


Honey

by Kilometers (Thomsenator)



Category: RWBY
Genre: Angst, Beekeeper AU, Bumbleby - Freeform, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Cute, Drama, F/F, Family, Fluff, Literal Bees, RWBY au, Relationship(s), Romance, puns
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-07 18:27:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 33,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13440654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thomsenator/pseuds/Kilometers
Summary: Yang works with bees to buy Bumblebee but bumbles into Bumbleby when Blake buys honey from her bees.Beekeeper AU - Yes, literal bees. Beeware of feels and fluff!





	1. Chapter 1

“Hey there… honey?”

Blake Belladonna pauses and looks up from her book, startled by the jovial feminine voice that has snapped her back to the bustling reality of the early morning madness of the local weekend farmer’s market. Her cat ears – her distinguishing faunus trait – swivel toward the source of the intrusion into her private world. Her initial annoyance is overruled by curiosity at the simultaneous clarity and confusion in the inflection of the call. It was phrased like a question, but the delivery had traces of flirtation, almost like…

_A catcall. Of course._

She sighs, reaching a frustrating conclusion as her eyes follow her ears to the source. She could ignore it and move on, but she has already acknowledged it by pausing – _and frankly_ , she thinks to herself, _catcalling a cat faunus is too low to let go_. Instead, she mentally queues up her usual deflective phrases, and prepares to exhibit her typical disinterested body language, and feels her arms and fingers tense in preparation for some more obvious gestures, just in case. Whether it was obnoxious flirting or outright mockery, she had dealt with it enough before to know the quickest ways out, and the most concise ways to return the favour before making a getaway.

Slouching in annoyance, she turns so her eyes can search where her ears can only estimate, initiating her search with an exaggerated eye roll that ends as she faces a simple wooden table, shaded only by a ratty, faded yellow umbrella, nestled among the rows and rows of booths and covered market stalls and back ends of trucks and trailers she had been meandering through for the last twenty minutes. As she hones in on the person sitting behind the table, preparing to tell them off, she pauses once more.

Seated at the table is a young woman with what could only be described (appropriately, given their location) as a _bushel_ of golden yellow hair, casually held back in a ponytail that falls comfortably below relatively broad shoulders shrouded in a comfortable-looking orange flannel shirt. The top three buttons are undone, showing the neckline of a white undershirt and the edge of a metallic amulet of some kind. Despite their own meandering, Blake’s eyes are quickly drawn up to the other woman’s shining lilac irises, which gaze back in her direction with uncertain tension, amplified by a tight-lipped smile and clenched jaw. She sits strangely still, save for the gentle wriggling of her ponytail in the breeze.

Blake’s mouth, halfway to a scowl, simply slackens into a stunned “oh,” and the rest of her body follows suit, similarly slackening as the anticipation of confrontation melts out of her and into the dusty gravel beneath her. Every word, every phrase, every movement, every gesture meant to deflect or dismiss – all of it, forgotten, in the sun-reddened face of this casually enrapturing young woman.

“Oh, uh… um…” Blake barely manages to vocalize, before another voice booms bombastically from behind her, alarmingly close (particularly for her cat ears).

“Ha-HAA! What an _excellent_ sales pitch! Just for that, I’ll take a look, _honey_!”

The blonde woman blinks a few times, her own jaw slackening, as a rather robust-figured older man with a neatly parted bowl of grey hair strides confidently past Blake, narrowly avoiding grazing her shoulder with his own wide frame. As he nears the table the blonde’s eyes are locked onto him, and she fumbles with a jar in her hand before setting it down in front of her, completing a row of small, ornate jars cutely decorated with cartoonish bee-patterned ribbons and labels of various colours. Substances of varying shades of golden brown fill the insides, some even reflecting more captivating colours.

She hastily gestures to her wares, eyes wide and unblinking as if afraid she might lose her customer if she looked anywhere else. A practiced, radiant smile blossoms on her face, and she chuckles slightly as she enters into polite conversation with the man. Given her composure moments earlier, her voice is oddly relaxed; a palpable positivity singing through her smile.

Blake stands there a moment longer, still recovering from the aural impact of the man now separating her from the honey vendor. With the woman’s lilac gaze interrupted, Blake hurriedly straightens up and hides her face in her book, storming off in a flustered frenzy, determined to distance herself from this disastrous social dilemma.

* * *

“Hey there,” starts Yang Xiao Long, but immediately falters as she registers just who it is she’s talking to.

A loose torrent of jet black hair gently waves its way down the pale woman’s shoulders, which, along with her bangs, shrouds most of her face that isn’t already turned down towards a visibly aged book of some sort. Her form is obscured by an oversized purple sweater, and her posture is reserved – almost defensive. But her eyes are what give Yang pause above all else: intensely focused and complemented with a clear, angular trail of lavender eyeshadow, her small irises glistening gold… almost like…

“…honey?”

Yang feels her face heat up as if she were opening up the oven at home to check on her sister's cookies. What was normally a simple, earnest question, had somehow managed to voice itself with a little more playfulness than the situation warranted – less like a question, and more like term of endearment, but… suggestive. Flirty? Her breath catches in her throat as she registers what just happened.

The woman stops walking.

_Oh gods._

A greeting and a question – that’s all. It’s a simple and foolproof formula that never fails to convey all the information that ever needs to be conveyed and either ends there, or in a perusal and (usually) a purchase. Yet Yang has somehow found a way to botch the formula, and she grits her teeth in frustration beneath a forced smile – then wishes she had had the foresight to stick her tongue between them _before_ she had locked her jaw so tightly in place.

The woman lowers her book, and Yang registers the briefest glint of annoyance in the two quick blinks of the woman’s eyes. While they could easily be mistaken as aloof, Yang knows well the expression of one lost in a good book, and those are the eyes of someone returning from some place far away.

Yang balls her fists beneath the table, silently cursing herself for breaching the other woman’s bubble like this. As she does this, something in the woman’s hair shifts – no, not something _in_ her hair. Faunus ears. _Cat_ ears.

_Oh gods._

Not only had Yang just disturbed this visibly introverted young woman from her book, but she had just shouted a suggestive greeting – no, a _catcall_ – at a cat faunus. Where normally she would rejoice at her own inadvertent cleverness, this was as perfectly inappropriate as any pun could ever be. She stares at the woman, suppressing her own growing horror at her callousness, and fights the urge to scream internally.

(Later, Yang would have to let out a sheepish chuckle about having also used a _pet name_ as part of her catcall.)

The black-haired woman turns to face Yang, eyes rolling and posture shifting – likely to tell her off. Yang knows she deserves no less and is overcome with a distressing wave of disappointment, until…

“Oh… uh… um…”

If not for the breeze blowing in her direction, Yang might not have heard it, but the surprisingly soft notes of the woman’s voice, tinged with uncertainty, cause Yang to breathe again, if only a bit. She tries to make sense of the woman’s blank expression when a large, grey-moustached older man in an expensive-looking maroon suit catches Yang’s attention with an unnecessarily loud call of his own.

“Ha-HAA! What an _excellent_ sales pitch! Just for that, I’ll take a look, _honey_!”

In the blink of an eye he marches around the honey-eyed woman, partially obscuring her from sight. _Where did he come from?_ Yang wonders briefly. _I’d better not look at her again – that might freak her out more_ , she advises herself _,_ quickly locking her eyes on the man, who is now close enough to read the fine print on the labels through his beady eyes. _Maybe she’ll think I_ was _calling to him. That’d probably be for the best._

She swallows hard, choking down her frustration and disappointment and instead activates her sales persona, broad smile and all. Still shaking off her distracted state of mind, she nearly drops a jar of her sister’s favourite strawberry honey, and has to ask the man to repeat himself twice. He is impressed by the variety and cites the health benefits of honey as one of the reasons he has remained in such great shape - waggling his bushy eyebrows suggestively for emphasis (to which Yang just smiles and nods as innocently as she can) - and leaves with two jars of her family's purest, unflavoured honey.

Recovering from her uncomfortable encounter with the man, Yang takes a hesitant glance at her surroundings. The faunus woman is nowhere to be found.

Yang sits back in her chair, a surprising amount of lingering tension finally dissolving as she sighs loudly.

 _So much for pretty kitty_ , she thinks, but quickly winces at her impulsive pun. _Dammit, that’s not cool. She’d probably hate that. She’s more than that. She’s… well, she’s probably really interesting, and you blew it before you even knew it._ She purses her lips, deliberating, and decides that her rhyme is inoffensive enough to chuckle at, which helps her relax again.

As the morning drags on, Yang modifies her sales pitch: "Hi there, would you like to buy some honey?" It's not as concise, but should prevent further confusion and embarrassment. Each time she cringes a little though, involuntarily replaying the woman's exasperated eye roll over in her mind.

With her father at work, her sister sleeping in, and her few real friends likely also doing one or the other, she has little to occupy herself with via her scroll that wouldn't be overly distracting or disruptive in the intimate confines of the marketplace. Instead, she carefully keeps a watchful eye on the dwindling crowds despite her earlier resolve not to look for the faunus woman. Maybe she could apologize if she found her? _No, she left after I pissed her off the first time. She would probably prefer never to see me again._

Yang lets out another long sigh, and "samples" one of her own free bits of cubed and honeyed bread from the covered plate at the front of the table, noting (as she licks it clean) that her once-swollen right index fingertip is back to normal.

_Another day, another dollar... right, Dad?_

* * *

Rounding the corner of the central indoor marketplace and now safely out of sight, Blake slows her pace when she realizes she has read the same line four times in a row ( _Ugh, I'm not even on the right page_ ) and lowers her book to focus on her thoughts.

 _It was a sales pitch. She sells honey. That wordplay probably wasn’t even intentional._ Then, remembering how the man had been right behind her, she sighs with relief. _She wasn’t even looking at me. No harm done. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time._

Blake makes a point of buying a large chamomile tea from a nearby vendor, a quiet, balding man built like a toothpick and whose eyes lie hidden beneath a sagging brow and waves of wrinkles and crow’s feet. He gestures for her to add milk and honey to it as she pleases – where normally she would take her time mixing both in to taste, she simply adds a modicum of milk and leaves abruptly.

She immediately regrets the decision, remembering her dwindling supply of honey for tea at home, but in her desperation to remove herself from the crowds she plows ahead anyways, and finds a free bench in the park between the market and the river.

Once settled comfortably – ensuring no one else in the vicinity seemed intent on sitting down near her before sitting lengthwise across its length – she returns to her book, but half of her tea and a whole chapter later she still feels anxious.

 _Should have worn the bow today_ , she rationalizes. Just because she hasn’t _caught_ anyone staring today doesn’t mean it’s not happening – she knows better than that. The mantra of an old friend echoes in her mind: _“Always assume the worst; hoping for the best will disappoint you.”_

Blake sighs once more, resting her book in her lap with her fingers holding open the current page. She closes her eyes and breathes a few deep, calming breaths. The morning breeze whisks its way through the gnarled branches of the aged oaks lining the park and the pleasant twittering of a group of chickadees catches her ears. Focusing more intently on the birdsong, she takes note of a sudden chorus of incessant chirps from somewhere above her. After some brief interruptions, they relax – contented hatchlings, she decides, likely following a morning meal.

She opens her eyes and scans the branches above her, trying to find what she assumes to be their nest. Small hopping movements catch her eye, and sure enough, in a juncture midway up in the canopy, the mother chickadee appears to be settling into a tiny nest with her hatchlings.

Blake can’t help but smile at this simple and endearing display of family life. It is a genuine, relieved smile – but warps quickly into a nostalgic, even tragic one. Memories and regrets cloud her mind and her smile fades.

Eager to escape the clouds on this sunny day, she dives back into her surprisingly sappy story, disguised by the author as a dramatic tale of espionage and political upheaval. She removes herself from the bench, taking the long way around the market, along the river, so as to avoid any further unnecessary interactions.

The walk home is calm enough, save for the frustratingly familiar buzzing in the back of her mind, the nagging of suppressed reminders of the unresolved. She finds herself rereading lines yet again, the story starting to feel superficial and contrived in the wake of real life. She gives up, tucking the book away in her satchel, and tries to enjoy her surroundings.

The semi-pastoral charm of this particular suburb of Vale rarely escapes her, and today the sun seems to be hitting things just right: the last of the morning dew shining back at her from the grass below, the mosaic effect of the light poking through the treetops, and the quaint gardening efforts of the local homeowners. In her many travels along these roads since coming to Vale, she had observed plenty of young families starting their lives together, and as such, lots of trial and error – but always, refreshingly, in earnest.

An internal cloud threatens to overturn her improving mood when her eyes settle on a small batch of sunflowers growing on the sunny side of a medium-sized bungalow. She pauses for the third time that morning, struck by the brilliance and abundance of the long yellow petals, and an absurd tingling in her stomach causes a bewildered chuckle to coax its way out of her throat.

 _Hey there, honey_.

Failing to stifle her growing smile, she considers that being accustomed to disappointment doesn’t mean hope is _entirely_ uncalled for – besides, she would inevitably have to restock her home supply of honey _somehow_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!
> 
> What started as a simple and ridiculously corny idea is quickly turning into a beeloved AU idea of mine - and I hope you will agree. This is a welcome break from my slower, Yangstier fic, Unseen Beauty, which I've been stuck on in anticipation of V5. The impending Beeunion got the creative juices flowing for this one, though, and with V5 finished I think I have more to give for both fics.
> 
> I'm learning not to promise anything in terms of updates, though, so if you like where this is going I hope you'll understand and appreciate it whenever it gets updated! I do have some of the next chapter done already so it shouldn't be TOO long a wait. I tend to get overly ambitious with my creative projects so I'm hoping to keep this one relatively contained and generally cute and happy!
> 
> Any and all feedback is openly invited and highly appreciated, as this is currently a one-man operation. Please let me know what you think!
> 
> Cheers,  
> -kms


	2. Chapter 2

A subtle symphony of buzzing echoes gently across an enormous field of young sunflowers. A tentative breeze conducts millions of miniature musicians through eternal dissonance that is unflinching, unchanging, but with a melody that is never quite the same. The sound swells and sways as the conductor spins and slows with little synchronicity. Up close, this chaotic composition would be cacophonous.

But from where Yang stands, it is perfect.

…Or, it _would be_ , if it weren’t so hot and stuffy inside her dad’s spare beekeeper suit. Her own breathing and heart rate rudely interrupt the soothing sounds of the Xiao Long-Rose apiary with each clumsy step along the cleared path through the field.

“Put it on inside,” he had said. True, he had also said, “Trust me, you don’t wanna end up with anything zipped up inside with you,” but that was beside the point. Even with the mesh ventilation around her face, the sturdy cotton weave of the enclosed suit makes it tremendously uncomfortable, and frustratingly awkward to move around in. She much prefers the practical comfort and freedom of her usual flannel shirts and loose-fitting jeans when working, or even better, her more casual tank tops and shorts. Plus, the only other time she would ever permit her mane of remarkably yellow hair to be half as smothered as this would be nestled within a brand new motorcycle helmet – her possession of which is, according to the increasingly ostentatious countdown on the dry erase board on their refrigerator, only a few weeks away.

She sighs. _Focus, Yang_ , she chides, picking up her pace. How had Ruby put it? “It’ll be worth the wait but you have to do the work first.” She slows briefly to chuckle to herself, rolling her eyes somewhat fondly at the memory of one of her younger sister’s seemingly random bursts of simplistic wisdom. _Ugh, you sound like Dad…_

As she passes the final row of sunflowers, she finds herself at the edge of the apiary, looking out on a dozen miniature homes, each belonging to tens of thousands of honeybees. It’s a modest set-up compared to the Pines’ farm another ten kilometers outside of Vale, yet the honey and wax products supplement the Xiao Long-Rose family’s income well enough that Yang has been able to pocket a good chunk of the profit from the farmers’ market as an allowance of sorts.

The hypnotic haze of honeybees before her is always captivating, and though she still feels a bit anxious about walking into the swarm (even in the suit), she smiles at the coordinated chaos, having learned that that they are actually able to communicate effectively enough with one another to allow them to coordinate their activities on an incredible scale. _I wonder if this is where the term “hive mind” came from..._

She approaches the nearest hive at a forcibly steady pace, her smile stiffening as the cloud of insect activity gently envelops her. Every so often one of the wandering workers collides with her suit, and some hang on for a few seconds to inspect their visitor before going about their business elsewhere. Despite her nearness to their home, they don’t appear to be bothered by her presence... Yet. _They’re kinda cute when they’re not trying to stab you with their butts._ She stifles an involuntary giggle at the mental image that follows.

Now situated a few feet in front of the hive, Yang clumsily produces a matchbox from the outer pocket of the suit, and unclips a battered tin cylinder from a belt loop at her hip. Attached to the tin is a small bellows, which she idly squeezes to reassure herself that it still works. After a few flimsy attempts with her gloves on, she successfully strikes a match and drops it into the tin, where it lazily ignites the partially-charred remnants of some dried grasses gathered weeks ago.

Testing the bellows again produces a soft puff of smoke from the tip of the tin smoker, and she hesitantly approaches the hive, applying gentle bursts of smoke to the entrances at the top and bottom of the stack of wooden frames. The bees, uncertain about the new arrival, have become audibly agitated, but after a few seconds of exposure to the calming clouds, they seem not to mind Yang’s presence.

She sets down the smoker in the grass below the raised hive, and gingerly reaches for the outer cover. “Just checking in… nothing too crazy…” she murmurs, tension creeping into her voice as she wonders just who it is that needs the reassurance.

Their father, Taiyang Xiao Long, had shown both Yang and Ruby the basics of beekeeping, and while Ruby was less interested in the creepy-crawlies and the stuffy suits, Yang had initially been drawn to the danger of working with the swarming, stinging insects. She learned quickly though that the danger involved is tremendously overstated, particularly when the proper precautions are taken. Still, something about the process captivated her and despite some lingering hesitancy and misgivings, she had grown fond of their many million miniature neighbours.

Today is the first time Taiyang has asked her to inspect them alone, and a few choice words of exasperation linger in the back of her mind - though she knows that if she’s going to actually be of any help with the bees she’ll have to start doing things on her own eventually. If she can’t handle a few bees on her own, what business does she have riding around Vale on her promised birthday bike? _I’m going to_ earn _that bike_.

With the inner cover now removed, she gently pries apart the frames of the top super, pleased with the relatively even spread of workers and the occasional larger drone crawling around on top. This had seemed like such tedious, unappealing work the first time Taiyang had opened it up with her, but she finds herself enjoying the relative simplicity of the motion more and more in light of the fascinating work going on inside the hive.

For all his hyperactive (and frequently annoying) doting on them for most of their lives, he had made things work for the three of them. Things hadn’t been easy since the original farmhouse had burned down, but he had somehow held things together enough to keep his daughters fed, clothed, and educated - including showing them how to maintain aspects of the farm on their own, which gave him breathing room for his primary vocation as a martial arts instructor.

A sudden dynamic increase in the ambient buzzing snaps Yang out of her reminiscing, and she responds with a few more puffs from the smoker, before continuing to replicate her father’s method of inspection - one frame at a time. Nothing seems out of sorts along the honeycomb, and she smiles excitedly at the weight of the middle frames, the edges of which are visibly bursting with honey - she’d have to come back tomorrow to gather the excess.

As the word “honey” echoes in her head, she is reminded of her morning at the market - just a few hours ago - and finds herself frozen in place by the fresh cringing sensation shuddering through her core. She is involuntarily treated to a memory of the perplexing purple-sweatered stranger she had unwittingly upset. The woman with eyes of honey, who she had scared away with her fool mouth…

Or, maybe, just maybe, that old guy had interrupted a situation that she could have saved? _If that creepy dude hadn’t been there maybe I could have apologized. Maybe we could have talked… Ugh! Focus, Yang!_

Her self-reminder comes a moment too late though, for in her stationary state she had failed to notice a visitor crawling through an unseen tear in her right glove.

An eerie tickling sensation on the back of her wrist startles her into a squeak and an impulsive jump that causes her to drop the last frame in the grass in front of her. Smoke or no, the current inhabitants of the frame are visibly upset, scrambling to assess the damage, or perhaps searching for their assailant.

The intruder, also jostled by her jump, responds in kind by delivering a piercing pinch to her wrist. Yang yelps in frustrated fright, swatting her wrist on impulse - _aw, dammit_. A bitter wave of disappointment courses through her veins as she realizes the damage she has wrought between the hive and the innocent insect.

“Sorry, guys,” she sighs loudly, hoping that maybe, just maybe, her noisy neighbours would accept her apology and understand her attempts to respect their space. Judging by the sound, there is no sympathy returned by the swarm. _Not a great day for making friends, I guess._

After another, more defensive series of puffs from the smoker, she carefully brushes away the grass and dirt stuck to the contents of the final frame and reinserts it into the top super before dejectedly closing the hive.

She continues to work late into the afternoon, inspecting each of the hives in a similar fashion, albeit more carefully - forcing herself to focus on the task at hand.

After a routine evening of assisting and appeasing her selectively studious sister and desperately doting dad, she has all but forgotten about her embarrassing encounter with the golden-eyed girl.

* * *

All week, Blake is tormented by a single, terrifying choice.

In truth, she had already made her decision. But she needs to decide whether it was a good decision, and it makes for a week of loathsome lectures, stunted studying, ruined reading, and uninspired ideas in her own writing.

It’s silly, really. It’s not unusual for an attractive person to catch her eye once in a while. Despite her circumstances and her pact with herself to stay focused on school, she _had_ (eventually) acquiesced to Sun’s incessant invitations during the winter months. While she had eventually rejected pursuing romance in their relationship, he had respectfully remained a close friend she could count on, and she was happy not to have to think about anything like _that_ again until she’s ready - maybe in a few years, when she has a degree, a secure job, and more things… figured out.

But for all Blake’s efforts to keep calm and avoid such complications, the woman with the sunflower hair and the sunshine smile stubbornly refuses to leave her mind.

On Friday night, as she sits curled up as comfortably as possible in the single threadbare armchair in her small single room at Beacon University’s Autumn Residence Hall (or “Fall Hall,” according to Sun), she sips a hollow, honeyless chamomile tea, and anxiously resigns herself to follow through with her initial decision.

The next morning, she opts for more summer-appropriate attire, even though the casual chill of lingering late spring breezes would normally prompt her to stay cozy in her purple sweater. Layers were good for all sorts of things, after all - temperature control, yes, but also concealment and, in some worst case scenarios, protection.

A subtle tremor in her stomach stirs as she stares at her version of summer-appropriate in the mirror: black, low-heeled boots with a sharply flared opening just above her ankles; a favourite pair of dark purple leggings; a fitted black crop top; and an off-white cardigan with a pair of thin horizontal black stripes accenting the wrists and waist area. She debates adding her bow to the ensemble to hide her faunus ears, but concludes that it might be cause for confusion, or unwanted conversation - well, not that she wants to avoid conversation, just… certain conversations, just in case. There may not even be a conversation to begin with, so---

_Relax…_

Blake sighs, halting her thoughts before they alter her decision any further. After one final once-over, she meets her own rich golden eyes in the mirror. _Ready to make a new friend?_ she silently asks herself. A careful smile forms in her reflection, doing its best to dam the doubts clamoring to be acknowledged.

Carefully, she compromises with her distressed conscience. _You’re just trying some local honey. If you make friends with her in the process, all the better… but this is just another stop at the market._ Her reflection’s smile relaxes, and as she turns to leave, the woman in the mirror starts humming a pleasant, lyrical melody in anticipation. The tune follows her out of the residence.

Without a book in her face, Blake’s walk to the farmers’ market goes by considerably quicker than anticipated. Now in sight of the sprawling marketplace - a loose grid of tarps and trucks and tables and umbrellas expanding out from the small central indoor space - she feels her stomach turn over again, doing its best to squeeze its way out of her throat. She stands her ground, fists clenched, and breathes deeply to settle her nerves.

_Just getting honey._

She retraces her steps through the market as best she can, which flusters her when she realizes she hadn’t actually paid attention to where she was going either time she passed through; on the way in, she was deeply engaged in a climactic battle of wills between secret ninja lovers, and on the way out she was just trying to get away from the honey vendor with the---

_Yellow umbrella._

And just like that, there it is, leaning out from around the bend, seemingly doing its best to get her attention despite its faded, tattered cloth.

Suddenly conscious of her slightly exposed midriff, she hugs her cardigan around her and does what she can to secure it under the single strap of her satchel. She swallows, trying to drown the butterflies, and fights the urge to turn around and leave - a tremendous task, considering the deafening doubts quietly screaming in the back of her mind.

_Here goes nothing._

She steps tersely towards the table where she knows the yellow-haired woman will be sitting, smiling, waiting, and hopefully, as eager to make her acquaintance as Blake is. She queues up her greeting - an admittedly cheeky, return-to-sender sort of gesture.

A middle-aged couple - both visibly human, unless the taller man's sun hat is hiding anything - retrieve their purchase from the table under the umbrella, thanking the vendor for her service. Blake walks up behind them, keeping a respectful distance, getting in line for her own purchase. She casually glances around, trying not to stare in the direction of the vendor. In the din of the marketplace she isn’t completely sure, but her faunus ears pick up a high-pitched chuckle and a few final words of appreciation from under the umbrella.

The couple steps away happily, wishing the woman underneath the umbrella farewell. Blake turns toward the vendor, hastily spewing forth her prepared greeting: “Hey there, h---huh?”

A petite woman - younger, maybe a teenager? - with large silver eyes looks up at Blake with a cheerful smile. A short, jagged curtain of dark hair, tinged with streaks of red, frames her pale face with pleasing asymmetry. There is something familiar about her, but she is definitely _not_ the woman from before. She wears darker clothes with splashes of tasteful patterns and grim images - which reminds Blake of a starkly stylistic high school niche, minus the attitude.

“Hey there, friend!” chimes the new girl, tilting her head ever so slightly as a hint of curiosity exposes itself in her expression.

Once again, Blake stands looking at the honey vendor with her mouth wide open in surprise - only this time, the feeling is almost reversed. Her stomach feels heavy and unsettled, as if she really had drowned a swarm of butterflies inside, and she can’t tell if her face has paled in horror or reddened in shame.

She takes too long to respond, and the girl’s eyes shift to the sides, unsettled by the silence. “Sooo… wanna buy something?” the younger girl hastily inquires, hoping to break the spell.

Blake blinks rapidly, realizing her mouth has dried out, and clears her throat as discreetly as possible (although she’s pretty sure she sounds like a cat about to cough up a hairball). “Hi, yes, uh…” she stammers, fumbling with the fringe of her cardigan. “Um… you sell honey,” she states plainly, freezing in place again. She is immediately overcome with the urge to bite her own tongue off.

The obvious observation is met with a casually awkward chuckle. “Yup, we sure do! Farm fresh!” the girl replies, smiling with unmatched innocence, as if even this horrible mess of an interaction could be forgiven. She gestures to the array of jarred honey in front of her, and rests a hand - almost protectively - on a jar of strawberry-flavoured honey. “Do you… want to try some?”

Blake manages to avoid hesitating too long, subtly nodding her way into motion again as an uneasy smile takes shape. “Sure.”

The girl reaches over to a covered plate at the edge of the table, and eagerly reveals about a dozen samples of cubed rye generously topped with different flavours of honey. “Try the strawberry!” she exclaims excitedly, then half-whispers conspiratorially, “ _It’s my favourite!_ ”

Blake’s smile widens as she gingerly retrieves a sample skewered with a light red-flagged toothpick. Immediately, the smooth sweetness and subtle strawberry undertones revive her dry mouth and she visibly relaxes as she savours the sample.

“Good, right?” the girl asks, beaming and bouncing on her bench.

Blake nods appreciatively. “Thanks…” _Friend?_ She remembers the girl welcoming her with that term, but is unsure whether it would be appropriate to return it in kind. Besides, it’s not like they actually know each other at all. _What am I doing…_

The girl picks up the conversation again, oblivious to Blake’s doubts. “Any time! We’ve only got two jars of strawberry left at the moment,” she says with a semblance of sadness, “but we’ll be making more by the end of the month!” She rapidly perks up again.

_Wait. We?_

“We’ll also be selling wax products too at some point, if that interests you. I don’t know exactly what or when, since Dad and Sis do most of the work, but---”

_...Oh._

“Oh! Do you know my sister?”

The puzzle pieces snap into place. Despite their very different aesthetics, Blake now realizes that the radiant joy in the girl’s face is familiar because it is so startlingly similar to how she remembers the blonde’s smile. _They’re sisters - a family business, then._

“No--- well, not really. I… was hoping to buy from her last weekend, but I ran---” _No, no,_ “I ran out of time---” _A student on a Sunday?_ “and money,” she fumbles with her words, tripping over her own honesty and into a blatant lie.

To her relief, the girl seems unfazed by her jumbled delivery. “Ah, I know how that is - last time I went shopping I lost my wallet! _Girl pockets_ , right?” she shrugs casually, offering a sympathetic smirk. “Anyway, I’m Ruby! Yang’s my older sister.”

_Yang..._

“She’s usually the one who comes to market, but for some reason she was super grumpy this morning, and said she didn’t wanna come…”

_Didn’t want to come?_

“...which is so unlike her, but she’s brought me along before and I’m pretty much an adult already anyway so I said I’d take care of it and she could take the day off, so hopefully she’s feeling better later, and I’ll make sure to tell her you came by, maybe that’ll cheer her up!” the girl, Ruby, squeaks out the last few words as her lungs nearly give out on her mid-ramble. She smiles up at Blake as she takes a wide-eyed recovery breath.

“Oh, no, you don’t… you don’t have to. We’re not really... friends, or anything. S-She probably doesn’t even remember me, honestly,” Blake tries half-heartedly to maintain her fading smile as she registers a dampening sensation throughout her body - more drowned butterflies.

Ruby’s eyes flick upwards briefly - undoubtedly to Blake’s cat ears, which she’s sure are unhelpfully giving away her disappointment. “Are you… sure?” Ruby asks, genuine concern reshaping her previously pleasant expression.

Blake nods, desperate to preserve what she can of this interaction before she ruins this potential friendship as well. “Yeah,” she manages quietly, fighting to keep what little of her smile she has left. She points to one of the two jars of strawberry honey, an unflavoured jar, and another jar at random. “Those three, please,” she says, pulling her wallet from her satchel.

They complete the exchange, and Blake forces out one mostly-genuine smile at her new sort-of-friend, Ruby, younger sister of Yang ( _who inexplicably didn’t want to come today_ ), as they share final words of thanks and goodbye.

Ruby’s infectious smile stays with Blake until she rounds the corner, as she had done one week prior, and immediately she feels herself deflate, bitter disappointment threatening to take the reins as she skips her usual tea stop and starts her return trip.

_Why didn’t she come today?_

If last weekend was half as awkward for the sunflower-haired woman - Yang - as it was for Blake, then she supposes she could understand wanting to avoid further contact. But the more she thinks about it, the more she realizes how silly her immediate conclusion sounds. _She’s the one selling things. I might never have come back. If anything,_ I _should be the one avoiding seeing_ her _again._

Blake sighs, her stormy demeanour diminishing slightly as she reasons with herself.

 _Maybe it’s just a coincidence. At least I got to meet Ruby. She seems nice._ The girl’s viral smile cracks Blake’s mouth into a tiny smirk once more. She sighs, exhaling more of her negative thoughts in the process, but a familiar one remains - and it threatens to strangle her strengthening mood.

_Hoping for the best will disappoint you…_

* * *

“Your friend bought some honey today,” Ruby reports cheerfully, stepping casually into Yang’s bedroom.

“Which friend?” Yang inquires flatly, spread-eagled perpendicularly on her yellow-themed bed. Her hair is more of a mess than usual, and she hasn’t changed out of her pajamas - a loose orange tank top and snug black shorts.

Ruby’s breath hitches loudly, her pleasant expression crumbling spectacularly. “OMIGOSH I TOTALLY FORGOT TO ASK HER NAME! NOOOO…” she wails, her lower lip rolling out into a comically disappointed pout. She folds over, arms hanging lifelessly as her continued wail decrescendos to a low grumble of frustration.

Yang continues staring at the ceiling, eyes half-lidded and unfocused - although it occurs to her that Ruby knows all of her friends at least well enough to easily remember names, _so who is she talking about?_ Yang leans her head back enough to view Ruby standing on the “ceiling,” her defeated posture now causing her to appear desperate to stay out of gravity’s reach.

Just barely cracking a smile, Yang further prompts, “Well, what did she look like?”

Ruby springs back to life, seemingly glued to the ceiling only by her mismatched ankle socks. She rocks back and forth in thought, as if trying to break free and fall back to the “floor.” Her eyes narrow as she carefully recalls her marketplace encounter.

“Umm, she might have been about your age, a bit shorter than you, long black hair… oh! She has cute little kitty ears, and her eyes---”

“Honey?” Yang interjects, suddenly rapt, as she rises to her elbows. “I mean, they’re yellow, sorta like honey, right?”

“Yeah! That’s her. She seemed kinda shy, like she wasn’t sure you’d remember her…”

 _Remember her? How could I forget…_ Yang’s pulse has doubled, a small burst of anxious adrenaline making its way through her limbs, giving her more energy than she had felt all day.

“...but, uh, I guess she doesn’t have to worry about that!” Ruby chuckles in satisfaction. Her smile twitches as she finally appears to register Yang’s state. “You feeling okay?”

 _Okay? How long…_ Yang’s head snaps towards the open window before her. A feeble breeze rides in on the sun’s rays, which hint at the later stages of afternoon. A pang of hunger reminds her that she hasn’t eaten anything at all today, and as the adrenaline wears off she recognizes her own over-rested stiffness. She frowns as the reality of her wasted day settles over her.

Ruby, having waited several seconds for a response, begins to voice her concern again, but Yang interrupts, “Yeah… better now, thanks.” She doesn’t fully believe her own answer, but as long as Ruby does, that’s all that matters. She offers her younger sister a weak smile to enhance the sentiment.

Ruby breathes a sigh of relief. “That’s good! Dad’s started making dinner, so you can keep relaxing if you need!” Her smile lends its strength to Yang’s own, and they share a contended nod before Ruby turns and slips out towards her own room.

Now sitting upright, Yang readjusts to lean back on the headboard, her arms resting on her knees. She returns to a neutral, pensive expression, and after a minute she hears the dull thumping of Ruby’s music rumbling in the floorboards of the farmhouse.

_She came back?_

The question floats distractingly above the sordid swamp of thoughts she had been wading through ever since she had opened her scroll that morning. There was a quick “inspirational” snapshot from her friend Nora Valkyrie, of her benching an absurd amount of weight at an equally absurd morning hour; a social media update from the young local pseudo-celebrity Coco Adel; and a single text message from Qrow Branwen.

She had not opened the text message.

Still, she could not bring herself to swipe away the notification, so there it stayed, taunting her even now.

It could be anything, really - but deep down she is pretty sure she knows. It’s inevitable, barring some bizarre turn of events. An intense twisting of her gut had taken hold, a horrible mix of panic and frustration seizing her up. It was not especially hot that morning, but she had broken into a sickening sweat just lying there.

Now, though, she focuses on Ruby’s news. The potential irony is not lost on her, but she tamps down her bubbling excitement. _She bought some honey. That’s all. She didn’t come for me._ It occurs to her that the honey-eyed woman may not have even thought to buy from them if she hadn’t so rudely gotten her attention.

Desperate to linger on this fresh distraction, Yang begins filtering her fingers through her hair, smoothing out her tangled bedhead. _She could come back again, though._ If the woman had been there two weeks in a row, maybe she’s a regular. Maybe she lives nearby. _Maybe I’ll see her again_.

A genuine smile sneaks its way into her expression. It’s hesitant, but she allows it to ignite an anxious spark within her.

_Maybe I can try again._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again!
> 
> First of all, thank you so much for the positive remarks to the first chapter! In just one week, the first chapter of this eclipsed my 7-month-old, 9-chapters-so-far, pseudo-canon Yangst fic in terms of views and kudos and everything. I’ll keep bringing it up in hopes that you’ll check that one out too but either way, thanks for your readership!
> 
> I had a lot of fun writing Ruby and Blake’s interaction. You could consider it my way of addressing the painful lack of canon Ladybug interactions, which honestly has so much unexplored potential even as a platonic thing.
> 
> This whole chapter became longer and angstier than I initially imagined, though, and I’m sorry to play with your hearts like that… but there is a method to the madness that’s slowly being realized and I hope you’ll appreciate it as it comes to fruition. I'll be sure to update the tags in the future depending on what comes up.
> 
> What are your thoughts? This is the first time I’ve written from Blake’s perspective and I’m actually really enjoying shifting between the two of them. Any and all commentary is very much appreciated - I look forward to hearing from you all!
> 
> Cheers,  
> -kms


	3. Chapter 3

Another week of absent-minded academia ambles onwards.

Blake rarely goes to her classes early enough, or stays late enough, to risk any unwanted attention from her professors or fellow students. Ideally, she would get through most of her classes without ever having to raise her voice or discuss things with a classmate.

Unfortunately (and unsurprisingly) reality fails to meet her ideal on a regular basis, as Professor Goodwitch – her “Introduction to Legal Systems” instructor – prefers to engage her students in a question-and-answer-style lecture, threatening to dock marks for any individual’s lack of participation. Blake routinely does her best to respond as completely and correctly as possible, inviting as little follow-up or discussion as she can, and usually she is successful – after all, as much as she might despise the forced “dialogue” between teacher and students, she’s here for a reason, isn’t she?

As her Thursday lecture inches closer to dismissal, she is once again called upon to regurgitate something about the something of somewhere, but the warm light pouring through the rear window onto the dizzyingly full whiteboard evokes the relaxing embrace of the subtropical sun on a cloudless day, and pulls her into a mist of wistful memories.

“Ms. Belladonna?” intones the stern alto voice of Professor Goodwitch. The room is quiet in tense anticipation, but Blake is too slow to return to the present. “Are you quite finished with your cat nap?”

 _This_ has her attention. A few subtle snickers reach her ears from the back of the room – _my ears!_ Her left hand flies up towards her head, but she catches herself, remembering she is still concealing her cat ears in her black bow, and instead pretends to brush a stray lock of hair behind her human ear. “N---yes, professor, sorry. Could you repeat the question?”

Emerald green eyes bore their way into Blake’s own practiced stare. “Very well. What is the primary function of the judicial branch of the government of Mistral?”

 _To continuously enable the systemic persecution of those deemed “lesser” by those in power,_ she wants to say - instead, Blake succinctly quotes the simplistic definition from Tuesday’s lecture notes, earning a curt, “Good,” thereby freeing herself from the scrutinizing glare of her professor as the latter continues the lecture. Several minutes later the class is dismissed and Blake makes her escape, though the incident follows her in her mind.

Professor Goodwitch, though demanding, a little frightening, and at times unforgiving, does not strike her as particularly cruel or discriminatory, and since Blake has rarely dared to expose her faunus trait in public on campus, she is fairly certain the professor hadn’t meant anything unusual by her quip. Still, the scenario from this morning was exactly the sort of thing Blake wants to avoid, and her wandering mind had led her straight into that trap.

Anxiety claws at her throat, and she feels compelled to put as much distance as possible (or at least a few walls) between her and that lecture hall. She has no more classes for the day and her appetite is strangled by her discomfort, but she happily envisions a hot cup of tea and a new book calling to her from her room across campus, and power walks stiffly around the courtyard with her head down and shoulders tight.

A fresh pulse of fright almost causes her to stumble as she feels her scroll vibrate in the pocket of her jeans. She doesn’t message people often, especially not during the day, so before she can allow herself to imagine who could be sending her anything at this hour, and perhaps wonder if someone is eager to expose a damning secret of hers, or if anyone might be trying to find her here…

She powers off the scroll.

It isn’t until the next evening, after classes are finished for the week, that she even remembers to turn it on again – though she doubts she’s missed much of importance. A few uninteresting notifications from the blogs of a few authors and obscure pseudo-celebrities and faunus rights movements pop up, followed by a forgettable Facebook birthday notification, then an indicator of new emails and finally three missed texts from Sun.

Deciding she’s not in the mood to talk to Sun, she readjusts her position in the armchair in her room, relishing the security of her deep purple lounging blanket. Like most nights, she is content to stay in with a good book and a soothing mug of chamomile tea – with milk and fresh honey, of course. Something about each sip is bittersweet, however, and she’s pretty sure it’s not the flavour on her tongue.

Thumbing through her other notifications, Blake opens her primary email inbox (mostly filled with announcements from Beacon and lecture notes from Professor Goodwitch, which she ignores for now), where a conspicuous purple-coloured notification in one of her custom tabs for specially-filtered mail catches her eye:

[Family (9)]

She pauses her habitual perusal, a familiar wave of unpleasant emotions stirring like fresh cement in her stomach. She stares at the tab, caught between the same two choices she had the last eight times, and always has; both are painful, but one is easy…

She deliberates long enough that the screen of her scroll dims automatically to conserve energy. Her decision is made for her, in a sense, and she follows suit by snapping the ends of her scroll shut with unnecessary force, gently ditching it on her desk nearby.

She huffs in quiet frustration, bringing her knees to her chest under her blanket. She eyes the back cover of her latest recreational read, but the words are unintelligible in the wake of her own thoughts.

 _They’re just checking in,_ she reminds herself, _nothing urgent._ _If there were an emergency, they have my number._ She soon finds herself imagining what horrible possibilities might merit such a hypothetical call, and the slurry of emotions sitting in her gut bubbles with rancid heat.

Eager for a distraction, she jerks her head toward the small window beside her, through which a sliver of the central courtyard can be seen even in the later stages of the slow summer sunset, the shadiest places still dimly lit by the stylized wrought iron lampposts scattered across campus. Above, the moon appears eager to make its presence known, though Blake frowns sympathetically, knowing full well that it and its star companions would have little luck outshining the nighttime haze of city lights.

Her mind wanders back to her amassing unread emails, not unwillingly… but reluctantly.

 _They’re probably just worried. It’s been… a while._ In truth, Blake isn’t even sure how long it’s been since she sent her last update, and she decides against checking the date of her last correspondence for fear that it may be longer than she thinks. She closes her eyes, the internal debate springing back to life. _They deserve to know I’m okay, at least. But what then? I’ve chosen my path, and they would probably approve no matter what. So what is there to even say?_

_BVVVFT._

Blake’s scroll vibrates itself an inch closer on her desk. It could be anyone, anything – maybe even something that could somehow make her feel worse. In fact, it probably _is_ , but at this point she welcomes the distraction, no matter the source.

She turns, keeping herself under her lightweight blanket as much as possible as she reaches for her scroll. Once retrieved, she spies the lone notification indicating one new text message from Sun Wukong. _What now, Sun?_ she wants to respond, but she’s already blown him off a few times this week without really communicating. The guilt takes control and she taps the (now four) messages open.

“hey blake?”

“wear r u?”

“blaaaaaaaakey”

Her eyes narrow in annoyance and her right cat ear flicks, as she hears him calling out to her in her memories with his old pet name ( _ugh_ ) for her. What was so important that he needed to message her _three times_ , and why did he need to know where she was?

Then, the new one: “hey”

 _That’s it now?_ she thinks, barely holding back more needlessly snide remarks. She methodically thumbs out a response.

“Hey Sun.” _Go away, Sun_.

Nearly thirty seconds pass. “where u been?”

_Running. Hiding. Studying. Sleeping. What does it matter to you?_

Almost immediately after: “we missed u at lunch yesterday”

Blake’s eyes widen ever so slightly as she realizes the date. Their weekly lunch outing with her old friend Ilia was yesterday, and she had completely (if somewhat willingly) forgotten.

“Sorry, I was busy with something.” _Not a lie, just not the full truth._

A minute passes. “busy tmrw?”

“Should be free.” _Should be studying,_ she thinks, although she knows deep down she likely would remain too distracted to accomplish much of anything.

“lets hang. my treat!”

 _I guess I should try to get out more, at least to clear my head... I suppose I can take that offer._ “Ok. Where at?”

A few seconds, then: “theres a place i wanna check out. itll be a surprize!! :)”

She frowns. Sun’s last surprise was a seedy pub with a “No Animals On The Dance Floor” sign, complete with a silhouette of a horned humanoid head. The vibe had been pleasant enough at first, and the sign might simply have been a misguided attempt at humour, but she could tell the few other faunus around – save mostly for Sun – were just as wary of it as she had been. “Ok... When?”

“tmrw”

She rolls her eyes, a well-practiced gesture when it comes to Sun. “I mean what time?”

“morn. ill call u”

 _Ugh,_ that’s _helpful._ “Ok.”

Blake has long since given up trying to convince Sun he needs to be more precise in his communication – whether she has to repeatedly prompt him to deliver complete information or scold and correct his ambiguously flirty and potentially hazardous one-liners, it makes little difference. Try as she might, Sun is Sun, and while she has come to accept that (since he clearly has), she still holds onto a shred of hope that he might one day be able to keep himself out of trouble - or at least keep _her_ out of trouble.

She revels in the distraction from her earlier thoughts, however, and after a few minutes of more pleasant reminiscing (complete with an eye roll and slow head shake), she finally pushes herself out of her chair and readies herself for a proper night’s sleep on her tiny cot.

* * *

“RISE AND SHINE, RUBY!”

Having just thrown open the curtains to the blazing sunrise, Yang launches herself at the foot of her sister’s bed, fully aware of the mattress’ springiness. For a brief moment as she flies through the air she sees her sister’s deer-in-the-headlights expression begin to shift to sheer terror, and then---

_FMPFFF._

A supersonic shriek of surprise follows Ruby’s flailing body as she is bounced right off of her bed and into an impressive pile of probably-dirty-but-no-one’s-sure-anymore laundry between her bed and window.

Yang settles onto her knees on the bed, which creaks in agony following her violent dive, then she peers over the side and beams unapologetically. “Hey sis, wanna go to the market today?” she asks, wiggling back and forth with admittedly obnoxious energy for a weekend morning.

Ruby sluggishly scrambles to right herself in the mess of cascading clothes, squeezing her eyes shut as she raises a hand to shield herself from the light of day. “Yaaaaaaang, what the heck…”

“You’ve been up late gaming every night since that big test! You need to get out more!” Yang tosses a pillow on her sister for good measure. “You know, interact with _real_ people!”

Ruby’s response is muffled at first as she only partially manages to deflect her pillow. “Jaune and Penny are real people, Yang! You’ve _met_ Jaune---”

“ _Nooot_ a great example.”

“Yaaang.”

“What? He’s fine, I guess, just… I mean, real people with real lives, y’know?” Yang begins fidgetting with her hair.

“ _Yaaang_ …” Ruby grumpily glares up at her through scrunched slits.

“Alright, fine. I… need some help. Dad and I finished processing a huge batch of honey the other night while you were busy _socializing_ ,” Yang explains, rolling her eyes to emphasize her sarcastic use of the latter term, “and I could use a hand bringing it all in and keeping track of sales.”

 _And keeping an eye out for our…_ your _new friend_ , she admits to no one.

She almost feels bad about asking her sister to help her, but in truth, sales _had_ been picking up as the first few weeks of summer progressed. If at any point they lost any potential customers too impatient to wait in a potentially long line… that was a potentially big potential loss.

And there is some legitimate concern in her assessment of her sister’s gaming habits. Yang had gotten up to use the washroom _very_ late one night only to hear the faint clicks and hushed whispers of a truly dedicated gamer (or, more accurately, a gifted student with an overbearing obsession) from down the hall. Even if it is a low-pressure week for schoolwork, these habits would not translate well later in the year, and Yang worries that her baby sister might lose sight of her own goals.

Ruby had graduated from Patch High a year early (just one year behind Yang), having impressed Professor Ozpin, the inscrutable dean of Beacon University’s engineering faculty, with a surprisingly comprehensive junior year science project and accompanying paper. At that point she had already taken (mostly by sheer dumb luck) almost enough credits to graduate; with a little string-pulling in the office she was able to squeeze into her fall schedule enough extra credit to qualify for Beacon in the spring.

So far Ruby hadn’t had much issue with the coursework, but Yang had heard that most people tend to hit a wall before long if they don’t develop good study habits early on, and so she frequently makes a point of nagging her baby sister in a variety of ways. Though for all her worrying, Yang sometimes finds herself thinking: _At least she’s doing something with her life._

Ruby pulls herself up to sit up awkwardly against her own bed, and rubs her eyes clumsily. She juts her lower lip out, casting a sideways glance at her strangely excited older sister. Yang wonders for a moment if she’s deep in thought or just pouting for dramatic effect, but then Ruby drops her head with a long sigh. “Fiiine,” she mumbles. “When are we leaving?”

“As soon as you’re dressed!” Yang replies quickly, beaming anxiously as she strides out of the room. “And make it quick! I can’t keep Zwei distracted forever…” she calls from the hallway as the jingling of tiny identification tags approaches. An excited bark is met with sickeningly sweet baby-talk, and Ruby stumbles over to close her bedroom door before the excitable corgi can interfere with her condensed morning ritual.

As per usual, Taiyang is already loading up their rusting blue pickup truck as Yang inhales a quick omelette and single piece of toast. The fresh honey is especially sweet – she recalls him mentioning something about the newer summer blossoms and nectar sources influencing the flavour – and it bolsters her already overwhelming eagerness to get to the market. She bounds outside to help her dad finish loading their products, the black-and-white-haired Zwei barking and bouncing along at her heels.

“Whoa-ho, who mind-swapped my kids?” Taiyang calls over to her teasingly from the driver’s side. “You’re awfully chipper this morning. Usually you’re the one I have to drag out of bed.” He rests his hands on his hips, smiling warmly despite his own tired eyes.

Yang hesitates as she feels her face heat up ever so slightly. “Oh, y’know, lots to take care of at the market… wanna make sure we maximize our sales!”

If he notices her flustered demeanour, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he smiles appreciatively. “That’s great, Yang. Thanks for doing this.” His expression dulls, and he looks to the ground, as if unsure what to say. “I… I know the bike is a big part of this for you, but… well, it really means a lot to have you so invested in all this, whatever the reason may be.”

Yang hesitates again, but this time in stunned silence as she witnesses her father looking back up at her with a sad smile, eyes shining with excess liquid. She places down the last box of jars in the back of the truck and approaches him, doing her best to return his smile. “Dad… are you crying?” Her smile grows into one of gentle amusement.

Taiyang sniffs, wiping at his eyes. “Ah… you got me there.” He lets out a long, shaky sigh – a bittersweet mix of contentment and concern. “Don’t mind me, just marveling at how my daughters grew up to be such wonderful young women.”

He laughs awkwardly as if to clear away the cloud of emotions around him, but Yang wraps him in a sturdy hug. “We’ve got a good role model,” she murmurs reassuringly.

Their father has never been good at concealing his feelings, particularly with regards to the two of them, but this particular display of emotion feels weightier somehow. Perhaps it is the early hour, or the nearness of a particular anniversary… or perhaps it is Yang’s choice of words, the potency of which she doesn’t fully realize until her dad is squeezing her back in an overwhelming bear hug of his own.

They hold each other there quietly for a long moment, and only when he pulls back and wipes at his eyes again does Yang realize just how much her words must have meant to him – and how sincerely she had meant them. He clasps her shoulders with his hands, proudly peering down at her with his watery blue eyes.

Zwei, who had taken the opportunity to relieve himself on a nearby fencepost, breaks the silence with another bark: _“Hey, look!_ ” They turn towards the sound of the screen door creaking open.

Taiyang clears his throat and calls out to his youngest, “There you are! Let’s get moving.” He turns to Zwei, whose head tilt and happy panting seem to ask, _“Me too?”_

With a sympathetic sigh, Taiyang informs him, “Sorry, boy, looks like we’re all gonna be too busy today. Weather looks good, though!” He hooks a lengthy leash (attached firmly to the outermost support pillar of the front porch, and allowing a wide radius of free movement) to Zwei’s collar and scratches the corgi’s ears affectionately in an attempt to ease the dismay evident in his drooping ears. “Take care of things for us, okay?” Zwei perks up at this, eager to make his family proud, and barks once in affirmation, his stub of a tail a wiggling blur.

They say their overtly cheerful goodbyes to their beloved pet as Ruby sprawls groggily across the back seat of the cab, and the three depart the farm for the market – a twenty minute drive down the rough secondary highway running northwest out of Vale. There, Taiyang helps them unload before hopping back in the cab to continue his own drive to work. The sisters bid him farewell as best they can with their arms loaded full of boxes and bags of jars and bottles.

The morning rush is just beginning as they set up their rented outdoor space, and thankfully for Ruby, they have enough time to purchase their usual morning stimulants from the scrawny older man around the corner: a medium cinnamon coffee for Yang, and a large dose of “coffee-flavoured syrup,” as Yang teasingly calls Ruby’s preferred sugary brew.

Once established, they fend off an early horde of shoppers, eventually greeting an eccentric, fast-talking man with a seemingly electrified shock of green hair whose thermos must contain at least as much sugar-enhanced caffeine as Ruby’s cup. He explains that a colleague of his had recommended he pay their stand a visit to try their honey, which he does – one of everything, in rapid succession, each followed by a barely coherent verbal analysis.

“Ah yes I can tell just by the slight tang in the aftertaste that your bees are well fed and likely have a healthy variety of nectar sources to choose from; you probably have a tremendously well-pollinated garden in the vicinity of the hives which no doubt contributes to the excellent quality of your product if I do say so myself. Ah, the wonders of mutually beneficial organisms sharing and enhancing each other’s quality of life! But of course you’re not here for a lecture you’re here to make a living so I’ll take one of everything you have.”

Several beats of silence follow in which Yang and Ruby both realize they are staring, their mouths hanging open as they struggle to process the onslaught of the strange man’s words. He returns their stares through small reflective spectacles, now so still that Yang wonders if some passerby had accidentally nudged his “off” switch. Only the tips of his hair and his half-assembled yellow necktie show any signs of movement.

Ruby, clearly still waking up, breaks the silence. “Uh… what?”

“One of everything you have, please,” he rapidly repeats, though not impatiently.

Ruby shares a wide-eyed look with Yang, and they scramble into action, filling a whole box for his order.

He adjusts his spectacles before lifting the weighty box with ease. “Many thanks, girls. I do hope your entrepreneurial efforts serve you well. In the meantime I must be going; until next time.” He nods appreciatively, then abruptly turns and strides away on comically long legs.

Ruby, fascinated, watches him go as Yang resets the table and prepares more samples. “Well, that was a thing,” the elder sibling remarks in appreciative amusement. She hadn’t ever had a sale, much less a customer, quite like that.

Ruby’s face lights up in recognition as she raises a finger in the air. “Oh! I know! That was Professor Boo… no... Oobleck? Yeah! I think he’s Weiss’ history teacher at Beacon!” she explains cheerily, only barely showing signs of her earlier weariness.

Yang grins as she imagines Ruby’s uptight perfectionist “BFF” in a history lecture with the man. “If his lectures are anything like that, I’ll bet Weiss’ hands are constantly cramping from all the notes,” she jokes as she tidies up the table, prompting Ruby to snort and giggle. “She’s probably gonna need some ice for that – good things she’s the ice queen!” Ruby’s giggling turns into full-on laughter.

Satisfied, Yang turns back towards the loose crowd of the marketplace in anticipation of their next customer. _In less than an hour we’ve already made more than most days. How could today get any better?_

She has a few ideas, but fights to keep her hopes from getting _too_ high.

* * *

Blake barely has enough time to greet Sun in the lobby of Fall Hall on Saturday morning before he spills the beans.

“Neptune told me about this place down by the river – farmers and craftsmen sell all kinds of junk there every weekend! There’s probably lots of locally-sourced goods or whatever, which I thought might be your kind of thing. It’s not far; come on, let’s walk!”

Before she can offer any sort of response, he’s already strolling out the doors and down the sidewalk, hands casually resting behind his head. She isn’t eager to return to the site of two of her most recent socially awkward nightmares, and hadn’t planned to return – at least, not until she ran out of honey again (which would only be a couple weeks at the rate she’d been enjoying last week’s purchase).

 _Surprise indeed… Beats a low-key racist pub; I’ll give him that._ She follows, humoring his light-hearted small talk in her own quiet way, as always. Eventually she manages to slip in a mention of her previous visits.

“Wait, you mean you’ve been there before?!” Sun exclaims in exasperation. “Pfft, some surprise! Should we still go?”

Without hesitation, Blake simply states, “Yes,” prompting a curious raised eyebrow from her companion. “I have… a friend there.”

“Huh. Alright then, let’s meet your friend!” he says, instantly placated. He does not pry for more details, which she appreciates.

As the bustling marketplace comes into sight, a familiar fluttering fills her stomach. A name she had almost successfully willed herself to forget springs to the tip of her tongue. _I wonder if she’s here today - if she’s not still avoiding… no, if she even_ remembers _me. But what is there to remember? It’s not like we’ve actually met… but Ruby---_

“So, uh. I know you don’t usually like to talk about… stuff,” Sun unknowingly interrupts, an unusually discerning expression forming as he half-turns to face her while still walking. “And I know you just need your Blake time once in a while, I get it. But lately, uh…” he springs ahead a step and turns fully around to face her, continuing their stroll backwards. “You doin’ okay? You can tell me stuff, y’know.” His eyebrows slant upwards in a rare display of genuine concern.

She slows their pace as they merge with the crowd, doing her best to keep her eyes ahead of both of them, ready to pull him out of someone’s way at a moment’s notice. She allows herself to smile at his earnest inquisition as a tendril of defensive humour wraps itself around her words: “You’re cute when you care.” She means it (in an objective, friendly way, of course), but she knows she’s already given herself away by deflecting the actual question, and sighs her smile away. “It’s… nothing you need to worry about. There’s just some… things… I need to figure out.”

“Alright,” Sun shrugs ostentatiously, spreading his palms nearly into the face of a tall, green-haired main walking hastily in their direction with a heavy-looking box in hand. Blake pulls Sun out of his way in the nick of time, frowning apologetically as the man continues his purposeful stride. _Did he even notice?_

“Thanks, though, for asking,” she offers, allowing herself another smile.

“HIII!!!“ bellows an excited, high-pitched voice – _Ruby?_

Blake turns to look straight ahead – in the midst of their conversation, they had unwittingly placed themselves on the path leading straight to the honey vendor at the fork in the road. She waves as she recognizes the open-mouthed grin of the small, dark-haird girl. And, sitting next to her…

_She’s here._

Time slows, yet Blake can’t formulate a thought or a word or a gesture to offer to the woman with the sunflower hair – _Yang_ – who is now, definitely this time, looking her right in the eyes. Her face is bereft of the luminous joy Blake had witnessed two weeks ago, but her lilac eyes are wide. _Well, at least she recognizes me… for better or worse._

A different word sticks itself to her tongue to replace the Yang’s name, and her mouth only barely opens to verbalize it: “H---”

“Hah, you weren’t kidding!” Sun’s hand meets her shoulder, and she turns toward him. His pleasant smirk shifts once more to a surprisingly serious expression, laced with concern. “Look, you don’t have to tell _me_ anything. But you don’t have to ‘figure things out’ alone.”

Blake is stunned by the sentiment, but nods in sincere appreciation. Somewhere behind her eyes, something tingles ever so slightly – just for a moment.

”Maybe your new friends can help!” He announces, perking up again as he waltzes off towards the sisters.

 _Friends… plural. Let’s hope…_ She jogs after him, approaching the sisters’ simplistic setup. With each step her heart beats a little bit faster, and louder – and she’s pretty sure it’s not from keeping up with Sun.

* * *

Yang’s heart skips a beat as her body suddenly seizes up in auspicious amazement.

Straight ahead down the path, not far from where the professor had vanished from sight, the faunus woman from two weeks ago strolls towards them. Same faded purple sweater, this time accompanied by black skinny jeans and short black boots. Same dark cat ears only just visible against midnight hair.

Ruby’s laughter subsides as Yang just stares. “Uh… Yang?”

The woman isn’t looking their way, and appears to be talking to someone, but from fifty feet away and through the foot traffic Yang can’t tell who. But it doesn’t matter, because _she actually came back_. Everything about this day so far suddenly seems so surreal. _First, our largest sale ever, and now... I’m dreaming, right?_

“Yang, what’s…” Ruby prods, confused, until she follows Yang’s gaze. “Oh! It’s her! HIII!!!” she calls, turning several heads – but most importantly, her primary target.

Surprised, the woman’s cat ears perk up at the familiar voice, swivelling towards the source. _Oh my gosh, that is adorable. Wait, should I be thinking that?_ Yang swallows hard, clenching her gut to keep jitters of anxious anticipation at bay. _Never mind that, it’s time to make up for last time_.

Honey-coloured eyes shine in their direction, recognizing Ruby first, which prompts a faint smile and a timid hand wave from the woman. Her eyes quickly flit in Yang’s direction, and Yang feels her body temperature rise almost instantly. _Okay, here goes_.

She’s been mentally preparing herself for the possibility of this encounter for the better part of a week, and yet she can’t think of anything to say, so she smiles dumbly and opens her mouth, hoping for the best---

As she does so, the woman’s hand drops, and her smile quickly fades as she appears to recognize Yang.

Whatever Yang’s body had been about to say for her dies in her throat.

A cat ear flicks once, then twice as they stare at each other in uncertainty for a beat. _Crap, that’s bad, isn’t it? Annoyance, or something?_ The woman’s attention turns to her companion, who has placed a fingerless-gloved hand on her shoulder.

Yang feels her body temperature drop faster than it had risen, the resulting shift almost sickening.

The crowd parts enough for her to see them: her definitely-not-friend, the cat faunus, turned towards a taller, lightly tanned stranger with a heavily gelled mess of light blond hair and an equally blond tail – a monkey tail? He is, Yang figures, objectively handsome in a frat-boy-cool, rough-and-tumble sort of way: ripped blue jeans, red and white sneakers, and a loose-fitting collared shirt with _way_ too many buttons undone, revealing a chain necklace of some sort and the hints of a well-toned abdomen.

 _Long, tan, and handsome – of course_ , she thinks, making a mental note to scoff and roll her eyes later. She restrains a frown, but then finds herself focusing on the way he so comfortably has his hand on the woman’s shoulder, the way he smiles at her…

Yang looks away, noticing Ruby eagerly waving them over. “Look Yang, she brought another friend! Order up: two new friends for Yang Xiao Long!” babbles the younger, turning towards her sister with an excited smile.

Yang forces an uneasy smile in return, and turns back to their approaching visitors, anxiously scrutinizing the newcomer while trying to watch the woman in her peripherals.

_Just try not to scare her away this time and maybe you can still salvage a shred of dignity from this._

* * *

Sun stops short a few paces in front of Yang’s side of the table as Blake approaches, obscuring her line of sight to her maybe-almost-friend. She returns Ruby’s smile, noticing a hint of tension in the younger girl’s jaw. “Hi, Ruby,” she says as confidently as she can, given the almost deafening sound of her own heartbeat.

Out of the corner of her eye she thinks she can see Yang eyeing Sun. _Oh no…_

“Hey… you…” Ruby replies, lingering conspicuously on the cadence of each word, before finishing, “...brought a friend!”

 _Does Yang really not like faunus? But Ruby…_ “Uh, yeah! Ruby, this is Sun. Sun, Ruby,” she gestures between them with almost Atlesian formality as the two exchange short greetings. “And, uh…” _Oh no. I only know her name because Ruby told me. Wait, was that even it?_ Blake is pretty sure steam is rising from her ears at this point. “...Yang, right?”

The blonde woman, who had been avoiding direct eye contact with her since they had come over, jolts upright and locks her widened lilacs on Blake once more. “...Uh. Yeah.” After a moment, her eyes dart from her, to Sun, then back to Blake, and then she glances at her sister, who shrugs nonchalantly.

“I told her this was usually _your_ job,” Ruby explains coyly. “But of course, _I_ was all alone last Saturday…” she frowns in mock distress.

“Hey now,” warns Yang through a chuckle – though Blake detects a hint of hurt, or maybe even anger, in her tone. “At least when I make a friend I remember their name,” she concludes with a triumphant smirk.

_Huh?_

Ruby chokes on a series of several squeaky, animalistic noises as she visibly cringes, her shoulders tensing as if preparing to swallow her head in a turtle shell of shame. “Wha---tch---jee---dss---NO! I didn’t forget!” she protests, arms flailing defensively, but her expression wilts as she almost inaudibly admits, “I just… forgot to ask…”

Understanding dawns on Blake, and she tenses up almost as tightly as Ruby, albeit without the noises. Her lips squeeze together in embarrassment, but they cannot contain the oncoming outburst of realization: “I’m so sorry! I didn’t---”

“Wow, some friends, Blake! They don’t even remember your name,” Sun laughs, poking her shoulder teasingly with his tail. “Allow me.” He straightens himself up and begins gesturing with both hands and tail. “Ruby, Yang,” he says with mock authority, “this is Blake Belladonna.” He bows deeply as Blake’s hands find her face to hide her own shame.

The sisters burst into laughter, a raucous but nonetheless harmonious song of pure amusement that may as well be a cool breeze, actually easing Blake’s facial temperature down to a balmy only-slightly-dying-of-embarrassment, and she soon finds herself laughing along with them.

The shared laughter subsides, and for a few seconds Blake feels _lighter_. Whatever dark clouds had been weighing her down seem to have dispersed, if only a little bit. Though the laughter is finished, it leaves in its place a real smile.

As she finishes wiping a slight buildup of moisture from the corners of her eyes, she catches Yang’s own smile – the same radiant, carefree expression she had worn two weeks prior following their… almost-encounter. However, her luminous lilac eyes are focused on Blake’s companion as she asks, “So, to what do we owe the pleasure of this visit?” Her tone is friendly, but Blake detects a weariness in her cadence, and a hint of cautious fire in the way those eyes stare at Sun. _She keeps looking at him…_

“Well, I had to get Blake out of the house somehow… er, so to speak,” Sun replies, clearly oblivious to the intensity of Yang’s focus. As he nudges Blake playfully with his tail once more, she watches Yang glance between the two of them, but she never lingers on Blake. Instead, she appears to be constantly distracted by Sun’s appearance, as if analyzing his every stylistic choice, every physical feature…

_No…_

The increasingly familiar feeling of drowning butterflies returns to her stomach with a vengeance. In a spasm of realization, she feels her fists clench, her ears twitch, and her face revert from no-longer-dying-of-embarrassment to an older but no less familiar type of heat: that of the heartbroken disappointment in realizing she had been foolishly holding onto false hope for far too long. She manages to choke off a violent whimper before anyone appears to notice, but she averts her eyes from the scene as Ruby chimes in.

“Pffft, what d’you mean? Blake’s practically a regular already!” the younger sister exclaims, smiling up at Blake, showing no signs of having registered Blake’s turmoil. “This makes three weeks in a row! Right, Yang?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Yang’s response is rapid, the delivery dismissive. She doesn’t look at Blake at all this time, and her lips tighten as if withholding a frown.

 _I’m not the one she’s interested in…_ Blake recalls Yang’s absence the previous weekend. _Was she really avoiding me?_

“I need to get some vegetables for the week,” Blake hears herself blurt out rather suddenly. She turns away from the sisters’ stall and grabs Sun’s forearm forcefully, eliciting a small jump of surprise from him. “Meet you in the park?” she asks, though she is sure to use a tone even he could recognize – it’s not a question. She manages only a curt nod to Ruby before the stinging behind her eyes blurs her vision, and she stalks away with her fists clenched.

“Uh, sure,” he calls after her, rubbing his arm where she had nearly squeezed her way through his skin.

“Um, okay, come back soon!” shouts a hopeful Ruby.

Nothing from Yang.

_Always assume the worst._

As she nears the next corner she just barely picks up one last exchange with her cat ears, which betray her desperation by swivelling back towards the source, despite having probably been laid flat for the last minute or so.

“So, are you two…?” Yang’s voice, curious, but guarded.

Sun’s reckless laughter echoes through the marketplace as Blake storms into the public washroom, just in time for her facade of relative control to shatter, frustration and disappointment seeping out of her tear ducts.

_Hoping for the best will disappoint you._

* * *

“Me and Blake? Nah, though at one time I had hopes. We’re cool though,” explains Sun, his perpetual smirk clearing the tension from Blake’s sudden departure.

Yang does her best to disguise a heavy sigh of relief, although some questions remain...

“But you said you live together…?” inquires Ruby, her right eyebrow stretching towards her hairline.

“What? Oh, heck no, we’d be _terrible_ roommates! We’re just friends living in residence on campus, but separately,” says not-Blake’s-boyfriend-or-roommate.

Yang anxious fists unclench underneath the table. She’s not sure how long she’d been holding that position, but the deep indents in her palm suggest _too long_. What at first felt like the most ridiculously clichéd and nightmarish scenario imaginable is quickly turning out to be the happiest false conclusion of her life. _Still, that was… weird. She didn’t seem eager to stick around..._

“Really? At Beacon? Which hall?” Yang can feel Ruby’s excitement spreading; her sister’s positive energy has always been downright contagious (after her morning dose of syrup, anyways).

“Fall Hall! Only the cool kids, am I right?” Sun flexes with a ridiculous grin on his face, eyebrows bouncing up and down. With his well-defined muscles already well on display, Yang is pretty sure the goofy gesture does little to enhance his theoretical appeal – and though it could be considered shallow, his carefree attitude makes it more endearing than annoying.

Ruby giggles at her new friend’s antics, and Yang offers a relaxing chuckle of her own as she asks, “So what are you studying?” In the process, she subtly tries (and fails) to see where Blake wandered off to. _I didn’t even say goodbye…_

“I’m just in Year One, trying to sort out the future, y’know.” He shrugs. Yang feels a pang of sympathy, but still summons her usual deflective answer to the return question. “What about you…?”

“Ruby’s in engineering! Graduated a year early and got straight in. _My little sis is a geniussshhhfff_ \---” Yang’s sing-song praise is silenced by a whole fist of petite fingers being stuffed in her mouth.

“Yaaaaang! You’re embarrassing me…” pouts Ruby as she struggles to stifle her sister’s silliness.

Sun, unperturbed by the sisterly affection on display, gapes at her in admiration. “No way! That’s awesome. You must be an even bigger bookworm than Blake!”

 _Bookworm, eh?_ Yang gently closes her jaw around her sister’s hand, threatening to chomp down with vengeful force. The threat has the desired effect, and Ruby quickly withdraws, wiping her hand on her maroon jeans in equal parts panic and disgust. Yang takes this opportunity to pry. “Why, what’s she studying?”

“She’s in Year One as well, but she’s gearing up for law school, so she’s got a lot on her plate,” he offers. _Yikes._ Yang tries to imagine the dark-haired faunus in court, donning a fitted business suit, maybe a purple necktie and dark-rimmed glasses, pointing dramatically at the judge and yelling “Objection!” – but based on Blake’s most recent behaviour, something about that picture feels a bit… off.

“Wow, so she wants to be a lawyer?” asks Ruby, her fingers adequately dried.

“Nah, I think she’s more into politics?” Sun posits, his tail twisting back and forth in deliberation. Yang tries to picture Blake speaking on a podium, surrounded by excited voters with obnoxiously large signs labelled “VOTE FOR BLAKE” in big block letters. Politician Blake begins to speak, but she just stammers and fumes and walks away abruptly.

Yang frowns. _This girl’s a lost cause._

Sun continues. “I dunno, I could never get a straight answer out of her. She’s really into faunus rights, though, which… well, I don’t follow the news much, but I know that’s still kind of a big deal for a lot of people.” He shrugs sheepishly, and adds, “She mentioned something about the White Fang, once---oh, hold on a sec.”

His tail dives into his pocket, producing a vibrating scroll, which he passes into his right hand and slides open. “Yeah? Oh, yeah, okay. Be right there.”

 _The White Fang… so she’s an activist?_ Yang leans back pensively. She doesn’t recall much about the organization, except that it’s pretty much the first (or only) name that comes to anyone’s mind when it comes to faunus rights these days. It occurs to her that Blake’s activism probably put her at odds with humans pretty regularly. _Was she nervous because we’re human? …Maybe she’s not “interested” in humans._

It also occurs to her that, in her distress about Sun and the potential nature of his relationship with Blake, she hadn’t actually engaged in conversation with Blake directly. And while relieved to actually be learning about their new friend, Yang realizes that by acquiring all of this information from Sun, and not Blake herself, she has put herself at an unfair advantage. Judging by her apparent reservations, Yang wonders if Blake would even be comfortable with Sun sharing so much about her. _If I hadn’t been so worried about either of them seeing me looking at her, maybe I could have actually connected with her..._

“Sorry, Blake---er, I gotta go,” stammers Sun, his free hand rubbing the back of his neck. “Nice meeting you guys! Maybe I’ll see you around!” he directs to Ruby as he turns and starts jogging away.

_Maybe I scared her away after all…_

“Uh, yeah! Okay! Don’t be a stranger! Come back soon!” Ruby calls after him.

“Both of you!” Yang hears herself shout. _Or maybe just one of you… no offense, monkey boy… agh, no, that’s no good._ Though she doesn’t speak it, she clamps down on her tongue in frustration anyway as Ruby continues to wave goodbye.

With Sun now gone, the sisters assess the crowd in front of them… noting with wide eyes the small line of increasingly impatient looking customers.

 _Hope later; honey now,_ Yang chides herself as she wills her salesman’s smile into place once more. 

* * *

Her eyes sufficiently dry and free of any telltale signs of spillage, Blake returns to her bench of choice in the park by the river and stares bitterly up at the clouds.

 _This is silly._ She hugs her knees to her chest. _I’m being so childish… what am I even upset about?_

She reluctantly revisits her latest living nightmare, trying to see it from every angle – but almost the whole time her eyes are on Yang, Yang’s are on Sun. Sun remains oblivious to it all, but it isn’t the first time Blake has watched a stranger fall under the spell of his physique, his carefree charm. For simply fitting into the ideal masculine beauty standard, people often tended to “overlook” their “preferences” - their way of saying that a hot guy with a tail was better than no hot guy at all.

To his credit, Sun wasn’t _completely_ clueless, or nearly shallow enough to pursue anything with such “interested” parties. Sometimes it took a sideways glance or foot-stomping from Blake, but inevitably he too would see the problem.

He hadn’t exactly shown overt interest in Yang, but that didn’t make it any better that _yet again_ he had unwittingly enabled the thirsty appraisal of a stranger. It occurs to Blake that Yang might not even be interested in women, and honestly if that were the only thing going on here she would be okay with it. But the way she looked at Sun? _She’s no better than all those other humans who fetishize us._

A reluctant sigh escapes her as she blinks away a fresh mist of frustration. _Okay, so I do know what I’m upset about. Still… she’s just another stupid girl trying to get some tail from Sun._ Yet, in the time it takes her to recognize and criticize her own wordplay, a shard of doubt manages to lodge itself in her assessment.

“Hey Blake!” Sun calls to her from across the park as he slows his jog.

She looks down towards him, doing her best to suffocate her own bitterness as she uncoils from her own embrace and stands to meet him. Her expression remains forcibly passive, though she has difficulty keeping her cat ears from sulking against her scalp.

“What’s goin’ on? We were just getting to know your friends… like, for _real_ this time,” he says through a hesitant laugh.

“I… I just wanna go home. I’ll visit some other time.” She clutches her arm, avoiding his eyes.

“Uh, okay, sure. Did you get your vegetables?”

Blake blinks in confusion before remembering her exit excuse. “Oh, n-no, they… didn’t have what I was looking for.” _What_ am _I looking for?_ Then, before she can betray herself any further, “Let’s go.”

“Alright then.”

Their walk back to Beacon starts in silence, the bustling of the market behind them providing a welcoming blanket of noise to hide the tension in Blake’s steps. As they get further away, Sun starts up his usual idle remarks (to which, thankfully, he doesn’t seem to expect a response), but before long he jumps, remembering something.

“Hey, Ruby said she goes to Beacon too! Maybe you can catch up with her there sometime,” he exclaims, adding a little skip to his step.

Blake’s pace slows to a standstill, her gaze downwards as Sun stumbles to a halt in front of her. “What about her sist---Yang?” she asks tersely, already cringing at her own bitter tone.

If Sun notices, he doesn’t show it. “Huh? I dunno, she didn’t say anything about being a student. Maybe she’s too busy doing bee stuff or something?”

 _A full time farmer? At her age?_ She considers it strange for someone so presumably young, although… _I’m one to talk._

Backtracking, she supposes that coming across Ruby on campus wouldn’t be unwelcome. Maybe she could apologize for running away – _but how could I apologize to her... and not them? What would I even be apologizing for?_

What concerns her more, though, is the lingering possibility that she might also encounter Yang at Beacon. Suddenly, her desire to seek out Ruby vanishes. _If I never see that backwoods beekeeping blonde again it’ll be too soon. Best to avoid Ruby then, lest she think I actually want to see her sister too._

She looks up at Sun, who is now eyeing her warily, clearly picking up on _something_ in her silent stillness.

“You, uh, curious about Yang?” a sly smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, his eyebrows shifting knowingly. “Well, just so you know, she _did_ ask---”

“No. I’m not interested. I don’t want hear it,” she interrupts, glaring ferociously at him. _And you shouldn’t be interested, either,_ she wants to say, but after saving him from so many contemptible companions before, she considers that maybe he _needs_ to get burned for a change.

Sun flails his hands in front of him in protest. “Whoa-ho! I’m sorry, okay? I’ll shut up…” he concedes defeat, slouching in disappointment as Blake surges forward once more, determined to get home without further incident. “But---”

“ _No_ , Sun!” she shouts, keeping stride to avoid breaking down again. The ambient rushing of the river and birdsong seem hushed for a few seconds, but eventually she hears the sound of his shoes scraping against the sidewalk – albeit several paces behind her – and nature resumes its noises.

They walk like that all the way back to Beacon. As they reach Fall Hall, Sun mumbles something about getting ramen for lunch. “I’m gonna head to the food court. You, uh, want anything?” he asks, though Blake can tell he is still put out from her angry outburst.

“No. Thanks.” She opens the door to the residence, but lingers in the doorway long enough to hear Sun’s solemn request:

“Don’t be a stranger, okay?”

The door shuts behind her and she slinks into the elevator. Her pent up frustration dissipates with each step until finally, as the elevator embraces her in the first moments of privacy since her brief escape in the market washroom, she lets her erratic emotions melt forth from her honey-coloured eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again!
> 
> Apologies for the wait on this one - hopefully the length makes up for it! It's one of those chapters that seemed simple in my head but grew wildly out of control as I typed it out, so much so that I had a few alternate/extended versions of a few sections (which, maybe one day, might appear as "deleted scenes" or something, who knows). I even considered splitting it in two, but I think it works better as a whole. Hopefully the perspective changes are clear!
> 
> So even though I initially had a hard time focusing the dialogue and events in the directions I wanted them to go for this chapter, the important thing is that in the process I'm also figuring out a lot more about what else is going to happen, when, and how in this story. The framework is coming together nicely and when I get stuck on a current chapter I find I'm still able to unload a few rough ideas and early paragraphs into future chapters. I'm positively giddy about what I have down for the end of the story right now, and I promise that we'll get out of this angst nonsense soon enough, at least for a while!
> 
> Shoutout time: I've had a lot of valuable input and feedback from a few FNDM friends; particularly Reeves3 (author of Swimming Lessons), whose helpful reviews and positive reception to my bumbling plea for assistance were welcome rays of sunshine cutting through the growing cloud of ideas in my head! Also, thanks to elfcow on tumblr for some early brainstorming assistance - I'll no doubt have more questions for you soon enough!
> 
> As always, feedback is much appreciated! I'm floored by the positive reception so far and hope I can keep delivering to your satisfaction. Please let me know what I can do better, ESPECIALLY if anything ever rubs you the wrong way or seems confusing or something.
> 
> Cheers!  
> -kms


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HUGE thanks to elfcow and Reeves3 for the continued support, feedback and beta reading!
> 
> Finishing revising this just in time to post at the very end of Bumbleby Week Bonus Day! Please enjoy.

The following Thursday is grimly grey, and after finishing the morning chores (mostly involving cleaning up her family’s breakfast mess) Yang collapses onto the forest green couch in the farmhouse living room, limbs spread wide. Only the muted light of the smothered sun seeps through the partially-drawn curtains as Zwei’s soft, breathy snore wafts through the distilled air.

There is work yet to be done outside, but Yang is confident she can finish between lunch and dinner. Instead, she rights herself on the couch and allows her hair to partially spill over the backrest, which is just tall enough for her to tilt her head back on and rest comfortably.

With her eyes half-focused upwards, the smooth ceiling offers only a few soft lumps and stress fractures as distractions from her restless brain, and even then they only hold her attention for a scant few seconds before rich yellow irises and modest violet eyeliner framed by shadowy locks materialize in her mind for the millionth time.

 _Was her hair even that long?_ She tries to squint through the fog from her memory of Blake’s visage, but precise details continue to elude her. _Was that eyeliner or eyeshadow? Maybe both? Or maybe none? She doesn’t seem like the type for makeup._ Eventually Yang is left dissatisfied with all aspects of her recollection, save for the eyes. She _knows_ she won’t be forgetting those eyes any time soon. Just to be safe, though, she closes her own eyes in an effort to safeguard that image. Against the dark backdrop of her own eyelids, Blake’s warm yellow irises seem to glow before Yang lets the image fade into the back of her mind once more.

And for a while, Yang just breathes.

She doesn’t count or try to match Zwei’s snoring; instead she has her own measured, meditative pace that puts some of her swirling thoughts to rest.

Still, the muddled memory of her new almost-kind-of friend’s face and features pulls Yang’s lips down in a pensive pout. _Why can’t I get it right?_ Her pout sours further into a frown as she registers the distant ticking of the kitchen clock. _What am I doing? How long have I been sitting here?_

It occurs to Yang that with so few and such brief interactions to go off of, she could be making up a lot of what she remembers, or subconsciously altering it to appease herself… _I’m fantasizing about Blake. I don’t even know her, or remember her face, but look what’s happening; I’m fantasizing about a stranger!_

She jerks her head forward, snapping out of her trance and scowling at herself. Her elbows find her knees and her face finds itself buried in her hands, as if hide from her own frustrated shame.

 _That’s enough of that. Maybe I’ll get some work done now_.

Rising to her feet, she stretches her arms above her head as she assures herself that a peaceful nap will come much easier to her following some more physical labour.

Just as she reaches the stairs to go change, something tickles her hip, and a tinny disco-rock beat blasts from her pocket. In her surprise, despite attempting to smother her… fascination? with Blake only moments earlier, a small part of her wonders if somehow the faunus had acquired her number and is trying to reach her – _“Hey Yang, sorry for running off the other day, let’s meet up over coffee some time!”_ – but quickly remembers that her scroll is set to vibrate, with one exception.

A sudden seriousness overtakes her wild curiosity and she snaps the scroll open.

“Dad?”

“H-hey, sunshine…” croaks Taiyang’s voice, as if through half-clenched teeth. Worry washes over Yang, but he chuckles tightly. “I uh… ow. Not doing… too good.”

Yang releases an exasperated breath, equal parts relief and further concern – he typically only called during work hours in an emergency or some other unusual circumstance. _It’s him on the line, and he can talk_ , she surmises. _Well, mostly... so that’s okay_. But continued worry warps her relief just as quickly as it came. “Talk to me, Dad. What happened?”

“Heh, I… stairs, I think. I slipped in the, uhhh… studio. Hit my head pretty good right before the first day of the… the first _class_ of the day, hah. Uh, everything’s concuss--- dammit, I mean, cancelled,” he reports unsteadily. His unusual verbal blunders aside, his tone remains somewhat upbeat, as if the whole incident were a minor inconvenience that he would be laughing about the next day.

 _Concussed?_ Yang curses silently, meandering over to the couch again and gripping the backrest tightly with her free hand. _If it is that, things might be rough for a while…_

Breaking her silence for her, Taiyang continues: “Your lie, that friend… er, your friend, Lie? Uh… Ren? He… uh, he’s gonna drive me to the studi--- hah, no, the, uh… hospital.”

 _Lie Ren?_ Yang recalls the young man’s peaceful face and tastefully traditional Mistrali aesthetic with clarity; however the word _friend_ seems a bit strong considering they’d only spoken maybe four words to each other, _ever_. She could tell he was a compassionate soul, but _surely_ he has better things to do than babysit her clumsy father all day? _She’s_ the one who should be taking him there, but… well, their only vehicle is with Taiyang at the studio.

Yang glances longingly into the kitchen, where she can see her own white board artwork proudly indicating: “ _ONE MORE MONTH!!!_ ” Beneath the immense, ornate text, Ruby has scribbled a tiny stick-figure bicycle in solidarity with Yang’s anticipation.

She sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose as she tries to plot a course of action that would get her to the hospital, the truck back from Ren, Ren back to wherever he needed to be, Ruby back from Beacon, Ruby to an evening “secret band practice,” and (hopefully) their dad back from the hospital before too late.

“Dad, let me talk to Ren,” she finally decides with a strained sigh.

A groan of anguish rasps its way through her scroll. “Agh… he’s bringing the truck up front already. Hold on…”

Several seconds pass, in which some shuffling, creaking, and muffled voices hum over the line. Finally, Yang hears a low baritone voice murmur affirmatively, and after one last shuffle, Lie Ren speaks, his tone calm but direct: “Hello, Yang.”

Even his simple greeting emanates a maturity she has yet to witness in anyone else their age (at least, she’s _pretty_ sure they’re within a year or two of each other), and not for the first time, it catches her off guard. “Uh, hey. Thanks for taking care of my dad,” she starts. She has more to say, but she cannot find the exact words to navigate this peculiar exchange.

Without missing a beat, Ren fills the silence. “Of course. You have nothing to worry about; we’ll be leaving for West Vale General Hospital immediately. He fell on his way down the stairs but he doesn’t appear to have sustained any notable injuries beyond what is most likely a mild concussion; maybe a bruised tailbone – but he says it doesn’t feel that bad. He’s mostly just confused about how it happened.”

Yang takes another few seconds to digest this information – and the sudden increase in dialogue between them – before letting out a faint sigh of relief. “That’s good. Listen, Ren, I know you’re already going out of your way to get him to the hospital, but can I ask you for a huge favour?”

Without hesitation, the young man’s warm voice resonates over the line once more, further easing the tension in Yang’s shoulders before she even processes his words. “Of course, what is it?”

* * *

_BVVVFT._

Blake’s scroll invites her gaze up from her textbook, having spent the last ten minutes trying to absorb a particularly wordy paragraph describing the history of the legal system in Atlas - the words as dry and cold as the northern country’s landscape.

It’s Wednesday evening, and she has thus far avoided corresponding with pretty much anyone since her third ( _and final, if I can help it_ ) visit to the farmers’ market. Sun had not texted her since ( _good riddance - he’s got a new “friend” to keep up with, after all_ ), although she hadn’t kept her scroll on much over the remainder of the weekend and hadn’t used it much even after that.

When she did finally peruse her notifications late Sunday evening, she had discovered a single Facebook friend request from a “Ruby Rose”. The unwelcome reminder of Saturday’s events had made her sick to her stomach, so she had simply closed the app.

Giving her scroll another chance now, her pulse quickens in alarm as she reads the new notification: a Facebook message, which she tentatively thumbs open.

“ **Ruby Rose:** Hi blake! Its ruby from the market! Hope your doing well!”

Blake hardly registers the contents of the message, more alarmed that she was able to receive it in the first place. _Have the privacy settings changed again?_ Resolving to re-examine her account settings, she focuses on a few deep breaths to calm herself before rereading the message.

 _That’s a lot of exclamation marks_ , she remarks, cracking a faint smile, _but that definitely fits her_. The thumbnail of the sender’s profile picture appears to be a crooked selfie of a red-scarfed Ruby smiling cartoonishly wide at the camera. _Seems about right_.

Wary of taking too long to respond after letting the message register as “seen,” she quickly thumbs Ruby Rose’s profile open. The girl’s profile is fairly open and accessible – _she should be more careful_ , Blake muses – and reveals that they share a small number of mutual friends. _That might explain how she was able to message me_.

Before Blake can investigate who they have in common, she catches glimpses of bushy yellow hair, brilliant smiles and lilac eyes in many of the pictures and posts readily available to her prying eyes.

A sudden curiosity gets the better of her, and she indulges in a more careful examination of these images. Most of them appear to be surprise selfies in which Ruby’s mischievous grin dominates the foreground while her older sister is caught unawares with a spade in the ground, or mid-sentence lounging on a green couch, or laughing in a tight hug. In several photos, nature fills in what little of the background can be seen – budding plants, rows of tilled soil, a sea of sunflowers.

The sunflowers in particular complement the elder sister’s aesthetic so well that Blake catches herself staring for several seconds at the wholesome, joyful images of the two Rose sisters. A reluctant butterfly takes flight in her stomach as her eyes linger on the blonde’s own – frozen in the moment but somehow conveying timeless joy.

Blake’s chest feels warm and tight, and she registers the tips her feline ears twitching anxiously. She rapidly blinks away her stupor, aggressively thumbing the back arrow on the screen, and looses a frustrated breath of air, as if somehow she might expel the butterfly from its home – _no, not_ _home_ , she thinks, _or else I’m going to need to call pest control_.

She snorts softly at her own brand of humour, and follows with a sigh. She taps the “Accept Friend Request” button, and spends upwards of two minutes deciding how best to respond. Ideally she’d be able to placate the excitable girl without prompting any kind of follow-up, _especially anything that might involve her sister_.

It occurs to her that a Facebook request from the blonde may not be far off, but she refuses to think about that possibility any further, and instead refocuses on her response to Ruby. Realizing that at this point she had “seen” Ruby’s message 13 minutes ago, Blake hastily thumbs the most accessible, relatively neutral response she can find at a glance.

A big yellow hand fills the chat box, waving pleasantly. _Good enough, I guess_.

She closes her scroll but leaves it in front of her on the desk, bracing for the dreaded small talk that is likely to come.

Two minutes later, she sighs again, this time in relief, and returns to her textbook, albeit with a bittersweet tinge of disappointment.

She returns to her textbook with a subtle snarl, but finds herself freshly focused on the contents. She pauses occasionally to take notes and highlight specific passages – an act that still causes her to cringe, but she justifies with the notion that anyone who bothered to write a textbook ( _especially about Atlas_ ) probably didn’t care about the readers’ treatment of the individual books, especially if they were putting out new versions with minimal changes every year.

After a surprisingly quick half hour, another _BVVVFT_ interrupts Blake’s tea break. _Here we go…_

Once more, curiosity prompts her to slide her scroll towards her on her desk, sliding it half-open to examine the cause of this most recent disturbance. She is already brainstorming polite conversation-ending responses to potential small talk from Ruby, but---

“Ilia?” she vocalizes in soft surprise. They almost never talk outside of their weekly get-togethers, which usually included Sun - _and which I completely blew off last week_ , she recalls with a frown. _I hope she’s not too upset_.

She taps the new message open.

“hey blake! we missed u last week :( “

Just as she finishes reading the first message, another appears:

“how r u? I talked to sun yesterday but he said u were busy”

The sorry smile that Ilia’s concern had only just brought to Blake’s face snaps into a suspicious frown. _Is that all he told you?_ Her expression softens slightly as she realizes that Sun might not be doing so well himself, but she shakes her head in anticipated exasperation. _I wonder if he’s already having girl trouble._

Cautiously, she sends back: “Hi Ilia. I’m fine, you?” Then, after waiting a few seconds, quickly adds: “Did Sun seem okay?”

“better now, talking to u!” Blake smiles again, Ilia’s kind words having a similar effect on her. “dunno. I guess he was a bit less enregetic than usual. y, u guys fighting again?”

 _No, but…_ Her smoldering frustration flickers as she stubbornly tries to stoke it further, however the concern edging its way into the forefront of her mind dampens it considerably. _He’s clueless, and reckless, but… not stupid. Certainly not stupid enough to get_ too _involved with Ruby’s sister. He’s probably okay, right?_

“No, but I need to apologize to him for something.”

As she continues to mull over these thoughts, another line of text from Ilia appears: “ok. u coming tmrw? if u want i can give u two some time to talk while i run to the library first“

Blake considers the offer, wary of taking too long to respond; their renewed friendship still feeling delicate at times.

“No, that’s alright, but thank you.”

“ok! c u tmrw :) “

Blake mirrors the emoji in Ilia’s text, satisfied with her progress. Glancing around at her desk, she eyes the current page number in her textbook, and her smile grows. _Not bad for the most oppressively boring textbook in Remnant._

Rising from her desk, she closes the textbook and begins returning her materials to her satchel for Thursday’s classes – but she pauses when she finds her multipurpose notebook in her hands. Within its coil-bound pages are all her lecture notes, colour-coded by course with sticky notes and different pens. But scattered throughout, in margins and between lines of regurgitated text, she occasionally finds herself scratching away with a neutral pen colour at a random doodle, quote, or sketch: a pattern of alluring swirls, a flowery border… sometimes even faces.

She is not especially proud of her amateur skill with a pen, but it allows for some creative release where other methods fall short; especially when a _preferred_ method becomes insurmountably inhibiting.

Stroking the cover thoughtfully, she seats herself once more, flipping to the first page she can find that has a few empty lines. Retrieving a newer, dark orange pen, she draws in satisfied silence late into the night.

Blake rises from bed the next morning with an unusual amount of energy; instead of grumbling and fumbling for the “snooze” button on her alarm, her eyes snap open readily and she rises comfortably with her first alarm. Going about her morning routine, her mind catches up with her body mid-shower, a good half hour before her morning tea would usually perk her up.

 _Maybe I_ should _talk to Sun first_ , she considers, letting the ever-changing Fall Hall water pressure erratically ease the lather of shampoo out of her hair. _If he is having… trouble… then it might be best not to involve more people in whatever mess he’s gotten himself into_. Growing impatient, she coarsely combs the water through her hair to speed up the process, making practiced sweeps past her faunus appendages to avoid flooding her larger ears.

After towelling off and dressing for the day, she thumbs out a message to Sun: “Hey. I’ll be at lunch early today if you have extra time to talk.” She allows herself a small, prideful smirk at her own clarity and efficiency, although she wonders if maybe she should have mixed in her apology already.

As she finishes her meager breakfast and sips the remains of her first tea of the day, Sun responds.

“aayyyyy!! cool c u then ;) ”

 _Looks like he’s no worse for wear_ , she thinks mid-eye-roll. _Which “then”? Early or the usual time?_ she wonders, but shakes her head as she brings her dishes to the tiny kitchenette, recalling his usual tardiness. “ _Early” will just mean “on time” anyways._

The morning drags on predictably; with most of the coursework now already covered, exam preparation takes up the bulk of each class. However, despite a growing sense of dread at the coming confrontation, Blake remains focused (if unenthused) throughout the lectures.

Thirty-eight minutes before noon, she heads for the Campus Center, a cathedral-like rectangle of a building with a heavily-slanted roof and immense glass windows around the perimeter, stretching from the low second floor to the ceiling several stories higher.

Once inside the split-level cafeteria, she meanders around the outer ring of the first floor, passing by the inward-facing campus-approved food vendors on the north and west sides of the building. She gets in line at A Simple Wok, the ever-popular ramen joint, where she obtains her favourite tuna-laden noodles and finds a vacant table on the east side, partially obscured (both visually and aurally) by a set of stairs to the second floor campus businesses and stores.

She methodically picks away at her meal, setting her scroll beside her suspiciously sticky cafeteria tray. No new notifications.

The building dread fights for her attention as Sun shows no signs of actually coming early. Reluctantly, she resigns herself to the duty of holding the table meant for four people by herself, for the better part of the next hour. Unwilling to face the expectant stares of other students searching for seating space on the first floor, she buries herself in her latest novel.

After an eternity of minutes struggling to focus on the story in front of her, her shoulder is lightly tapped by a friendly fist.

“ _Wow_ , you ate already? Guess you weren’t kidding about early, huh?” Sun smirks down at her.

He appears as unbothered as ever, tail flicking mischievously behind him as his hands weave together behind his head, completing his trademark casual posture.

Blake glances at her scroll. “Two minutes early. Not bad, for you,” she deadpans at first, but they share a knowing smile and he chuckles. _He seems fine. Maybe I was worried for nothing._

Sun drops his bag in his intended seat across from her, tail gesturing towards A Simple Wok. “I’m gonna get my lunch. Want anything for dessert? Those weird little fortune cookies are kinda neat,” he offers.

Blake shakes her head, thanking him as he strolls away. _Maybe we don’t need to talk about it?_ she muses with a splinter of hope, though deep down she knows she’s fooling herself.

“Room for one more?” a soft voice calls from above.

Blake turns her gaze upwards, searching for the source. What little she can see of the second floor balcony presents few options; mostly the heads of strangers bobbing around as they walk past the nearby staircase.

“Ilia, you can come out now,” she calls back to nowhere in particular, another smile relaxing across her lips.

The petite Ilia Amitola breaks away from her cover, a passing crowd of students who had just descended the stairs. She grins playfully at Blake as she hastens to the table with a bounce in her step that causes the twin locks of hair framing the sides of her face to sway. “That never gets old!”

“Maybe not for you,” Blake says, rising to return the inevitable (if still tentative) hug that her oldest friend offers her.

“You’re no fun,” Ilia teases, pouting as she deposits her compact backpack in the seat next to Blake. “You talk to Sun yet?” she asks, gesturing at his bag.

“Not really, no,” Blake responds, her smile trading itself in for a pensive expression. _Maybe we should have?_ Noticing the budding concern in Ilia’s expression, she adds, “but it’s fine.”

Ilia looks a lot more convinced than Blake is. “Alright, well I’m gonna use our friend to jump the line, then,” she declares, smirking in Sun’s direction.

A few minutes later, all three of them are seated together, beginning their Thursday tradition anew. The familiarity kindles a welcome warmth within Blake’s stomach.

Blake fields and facilitates small talk with them between their remarkably similar noodle-slurping. A few annoyed shoulder punches are traded here and there, which requires some reaching across the table, and in turn causes a few minor spills that then lead to more shoulder-punching. Despite their obvious visual differences, Blake has to suppress a soft chuckle as she effortlessly imagines them as quintessential rival siblings.

They reach a break in the conversation as Sun and Ilia simultaneously finish their bowls, and the comfort of the familiar atmosphere compels Blake to say her piece.

“Sun, I… I’m sorry about the other day,” she begins, staring down at a puddle of broth on the table. “I got really upset with you for really childish reasons and didn’t let either of us explain what we were thinking.”

Ilia’s eyes flit between them expectantly, clearly unsure of her place in this conversation but immensely curious.

Sun covers a belch with a napkin-wielding tail, unperturbed. “Hey, no worries. I still don’t really get it, but silly reasons are still reasons, right?” He shrugs, doing his best to impress his own relaxed smile upon Blake.

It almost works, but the heart of the issue remains, and on this clear-minded day she figures she’d best get this confrontation over with. She’s not sure she completely agrees with his assessment either, but focuses on the task at hand.

“I just want you to be careful. Someone like Yang… not everybody values us for who we are. Some people are only interested in what makes us different,” she explains, her voice forcibly calm. “And for too many people that ‘interest’ is only skin-deep.” She wants to add something to the effect of “ _We’ve had this conversation before, albeit in different words,_ ” but feels it would be snarkier than the situation merits, given that she’s the one trying to apologize right now.

Despite her attempted clarity, Sun looks confused, with his arms crossed and single eyebrow raised.

Ilia, on the other hand, is wide-eyed with impetuous curiosity. “Who’s Yang?” she asks, turning to Sun with a teasing grin. “New girlfriend?”

This seems to snap Sun out of his confusion. “Huh? Heck no. If anyth--- Wait,” he pauses. “You thought _I_ was interested in Yang?” His own eyes are wide now, a new understanding dawning on him as he stares at Blake, dumbfounded.

Blake remains silent, trying to keep her expression neutral, but feels her bow stretch against her faunus ears’ attempt to flatten themselves.

Like an untied balloon eschewing its compressed contents, Sun bursts into obnoxious laughter. Blake and Ilia exchange a sidelong glance of mutual confusion, though something seems to click for Ilia, and her eyes widen once more – this time with something akin to shock.

His impressive air supply depleted, Sun wipes at his eyes with his tail, hands splayed out on the table in front of him as if steadying his balance, despite being comfortably seated on stable ground. “Whew! Blake, I think I get it now.”

Unable to contain herself any longer, Ilia slaps her palms onto the table (narrowly missing the broth puddle) and cranes her neck forward to assert her interest in the conversation. “What the heck are you guys talking about?”

Blake, on the other hand, is frozen in frustrated panic. _What is Sun talking about? Yang was practically all over him the second I introduced him. Why is this so funny to him? This is hardly a joke…_ UGH, _why do I even care at this point?_

“Blake’s got a crush on her new market friend!”

Sun’s declaration brings the kettle to a boil. Blake feels her bow start to slip off as her cat ears sulk against her skull. The scene in front of her blurs as heat radiates from her whole head and neck. Her palms seem to slicken with sweat almost immediately, trying and failing to grip the edges of her seat for support. A confused cross between a furious roar and a wistful whimper groans in her throat.

Before she can direct her hurt and anger back at her so-called friend, he relaxes enough to see the signs and interjects, hands raised in tentative defense, but still smirking. “I’m pretty sure she was interested in _you_ , Blake. She kept asking about you. In fact, she seemed pretty relieved when I told her we weren’t… uh, _together_.”

In a dizzying instant, the metaphorical kettle freezes over, though several dozen stomach-butterflies seem to have missed the migration memo. The dull roar of the cafeteria at peak hours fills the silence between them, and Blake’s hands instinctively rush to her hair to adjust her bow, now thoroughly displaced by cautiously perked ears.

Otherwise, she is still.

Sun leans back in his chair, returning his hands to their favourite resting position behind his head. “She’s pretty hot, sure, but I’m not into blondes,” he remarks, but reconsiders with pursed lips, adding “usually.”

“It sounds like Blake thought Yang was interested in _you_ ,” Ilia says softly, which turns both heads to face her. Her hands are clasped in her lap, shoulders forward, and though her eyes are looking in Sun’s direction she seems to be seeing something… else. Blake recognizes the posture as Ilia’s self-restraint: given enough emotional duress, Ilia’s skin and features changed colours like a chameleon, which often proved to be a startling and off-putting revelation to the unsuspecting human, and even some fellow faunus. Something about the nature of this revelation has put Ilia on the edge of shifting colours.

Before Blake can dwell on her observation or confirm Ilia’s own, Sun is again surprised into speech. “Whoa, really? So…” he comments, piecing together the picture Blake had stubbornly refused to let him see. “Wow, Blake, sorry I didn’t pick up on that. I really got mixed up here, heh.”

“N-no, it’s fine… I…” she starts, but buries her face in her hands, cutting herself off. _I can’t believe I misread that… so badly._

Ilia’s hand finds her shoulder, and through it she feels her friend’s faintly sympathetic laughter. “Blake, that’s awesome. Don’t worry about the awkward stuff; if Yang is awesome enough to have caught _your_ eye – and if you’ve caught hers – then you’ve got nothing to worry about.” Her smile is timid, but genuine.

Blake’s face feels _raw_ from the heat of the rapidly alternating sensations of fury and shame, but Ilia’s supportive words bring a comfortable smile to her own face nonetheless.

Not content to linger in any moment too long, Sun leans forward and launches into an entirely unrelated conversation. “Hey, so, Neptune invited me to some thing next weekend. He won’t tell me what it is, but he… well, he’s not gonna let me _not_ come. I figure it’s probably one of those lame artsy events he keeps trying on, so I’ll be bored out of my mind – _but_ he said I could bring some friends along!”

Still cooling off from her embarrassment, Blake only half-follows his story. Ilia removes her hand and eyes Sun warily. “In the middle of finals?” she asks dubiously.

“Yeah, it’s probably some poetry thing again, but, and I quote: ‘ _It’ll be rad!_ ’ Like who even says that anymore?”

“Could be interesting,” relents Ilia, tilting her head in consideration. “What do you think, Blake?”

Blake is lost in her own thoughts, too focused on just _breathing_ normally to acknowledge the proposition. _I completely misunderstood Yang’s intentions._

“Yeah, Blake! You could even bring a _date_!” laughs Sun, eyebrows waggling.

_Have I been dreaming this whole time? This is ridiculous. How did I fool myself into this situation?_

“Well, how about it, you two? Care to join me for some mystery fun next Saturday night? Dates optional,” he reiterates.

“Actually…” Ilia responds, slouching a bit, “I think I have exams both days, so maybe I’ll pass this time…” Her disappointment is evident – if odd, given her relative disinterest at first.

Blake, finally catching up with the present, nods slightly. “My exams are fairly spread out, so it shouldn’t be a problem,” she offers. _And keeping you company at an “artsy” event is the least I can do to make up for my behaviour. Of the two of us I might actually enjoy it._

“Sweet! But uh, y’know, I’ll try not to get in the way if you _do_ bring Yang along,” he winks, poking her knee under the table with his tail.

She rolls her eyes, but smiles at his earnest humour nonetheless. “I’ll have to actually talk to her at some point then,” she confesses, fighting a blush.

Sun gets a kick out of this, and together they laugh away the earlier confusion. Before long they part ways for their afternoon classes, promising to meet up again next week.

* * *

The rattling and rumbling of Taiyang’s aged pickup truck punctuate the silence in the cab. To Yang it sounds (and feels) no worse than usual, but judging by his white-knuckled grip on the wheel, Lie Ren is less confident in the vehicle’s vitality. It’s his only tell, though – after she tumbled into the front seat back at the farm, he had greeted her politely and they had confirmed their plan, and then… quiet.

_CH-DNGK._

Relatively.

“Is this normal?” the dark-haired young man asks, voice as steady as can be given the jostling of the cab. Again, strangely calm save for his grip, which Yang hadn’t even noticed until a pothole shook a careful sigh out of him a few minutes ago.

In his simple, functional work attire, Ren looks more like a first-time combatant in a local martial arts tournament: anxious on the inside, but mustering all previous training and discipline to the forefront of his mind to maintain the illusion of calm. But she knows better than to underestimate the taller youth’s peaceful demeanour.

“Hm?” she responds, turning her focus outward from her concerns and the hopeful plan for the rest of the day. “Oh, the truck? Tchyeah, it’s got its quirks, but it’ll hold together, promise!” She aims a smile his way, adding a thumbs-up for good measure.

Still fully facing forward, Ren’s right eye meets hers for just a moment, seemingly skeptical.

“Trust me, I worked on it myself,” she adds, crossing her arms with a smirk.

His eye meets hers again, as if searching for a lie. While maybe she hadn’t worked on it _alone_ , after their latest nigh-catastrophic tune-up she is more confident in her own assessment of its functionality than Taiyang “The Fixer” Xiao Long’s. She raises a daring eyebrow at her temporary driver, whose eyes return to the road – but a small smile shakes his inscrutable image.

“That’s good, then,” he says, shifting his hands on the wheel to a more relaxed position. “Your father speaks highly of you, you know.”

Yang’s eyebrows further contort with cautious curiosity before dismissing the comment with an eye roll. “ _Duh_. He gushes about us to anyone who’ll listen. I’m sure _your_ family must be proud of you and your apprenticeship or whatever,” she prods with a smile.

Ren brings the truck to a stop at one of the few rural traffic lights. A deafening silence ensues as even the truck seems to catch its breath. Yang glances over to see the young man’s eyelids drooping to match his wan smile.

“I suppose they might be, if they were still with us,” he murmurs.

Yang’s arms slide into her lap as a chill numbs her core. In the time it takes for her to notice her own slack-jawed stare and regain her composure, Ren has returned his eyes to the road and brought the truck up to a comfortable (and careful) speed. The cab resumes its clamorous clacking.

“Ren, I… wow, I had no idea. I’m so sorry,” Yang stumbles over the sentiment, her eyes still wide in the wake of Ren’s tragic revelation. She watches him more carefully, trying to discern his thoughts or sense his present feelings on the matter, but he resumes an eerily neutral expression that she decides is either so frequently practiced and for so long as to be second nature, or an impressive shield to resist recent pain.

Her father had never gone into detail ( _if he even knew?_ ) about how Ren had come under his wing so many years ago, and they rarely saw each other or had more than passing interactions until… well, _today_. And even in those moments… _I don’t think I’ve ever seen him with anyone else..._ _How long has he been alone?_ A familiar tug on her insides causes her fists to clench on her knees in front of her, her shoulders tight.

“It’s okay; it was a long time ago. I’ve had a lot of time to reflect, and while I don’t remember them as well as I’d like… I think they’d be happy to know I’m helping a friend,” he explains gently. His faint smile returns as he glances at Yang.

Once more she is stunned into silence – this time by his rapid recovery as much as his generous use of the term “friend” – and an urge to deliver some form of comfort or reassurance overwhelms her.

“Absolutely,” she half-shouts, which is met with a similarly surprised eyebrow raise. “I mean… they absolutely would be. Happy. _And_ proud.” She reaches out and places a hand on his shoulder as a gesture of solidarity, despite a sliver of shame shouting in the back of her mind: _You don’t know anything about him after all these years! Who are you to assume anything about his family? You barely know your own!_

Ignoring the doubts, she persists: “Whatever time you _did_ have with them shaped you into who you are now, and… well, we’re not close, but yeah, your _friend_ appreciates the help,” she points her free thumb towards herself emphatically. “They must have been really awesome to have brought a friend like you into the world.”

It’s Ren’s turn to stare, although an aggressive honk from behind them snaps him back into focus, continuing from the latest stoplight at the edge of the city. Yang returns her left hand to her lap, though her friend makes no indication of discomfort.

“That’s very kind of you, Yang. Thanks. I should say the same about you and your family,” he replies, a new layer of warmth in his tone. “Taiyang has been very kind and understanding and I owe him a great deal. That kindness obviously runs in the family.”

 _It’s not just him,_ she thinks. _Though I doubt genetics has much to do with it_. “Oh, we do our best,” she concedes, doing her best to laugh off her darker thoughts. “Seriously though, thank you for doing this.”

Ren murmurs in acknowledgement, turning them onto the overpass that would take them to the hospital.

Curiosity bubbles up within her again though, and as casually as possible she asks, “Soooo… where do you live, then?”

Immediately she fears she has pried too far with such a personal question, as Ren takes a long breath in, shoulders rising defensively. His face, however, merely flushes pink as his eyebrows raise – not an expression of anger, more like… “Uhh, well, actually…” he stammers, which utterly fascinates Yang. _Is he… actually embarrassed? No, maybe that’s not quite it…_ “I’ve actually been living with a friend of mine for the last nineteen months.” The words leave his mouth faster than Yang has ever heard him speak, but he relaxes towards the end. “Prior to that, we actually looked out for each other on the street for a while.”

 _I’ve been exchanging pleasantries and small talk with a homeless orphan for half my life and I had no idea._ “That must have been hard,” she offers, unable to find any other words to adequately express her bewilderment, or her sympathy.

“Sometimes, yes. But…” his posture tightens up again, as if by explaining any further he might jinx his own words, “…when you have someone to share even the worst of times with, things aren’t always so bad.” Again, he relaxes at the end of his sentence, as if forcibly accepting the release of his words into the world to wreak whatever havoc he seems so wary of.

_Someone to share…_

“What about you, Yang?”

The question catches her mid-thought, dispelling a half-formed image in a figurative cloud of purple and black, with the occasional glint of yellow. “Huh?”

Ren continues: “You’ve lived most of your life out in Patch, haven’t you? Do you have any plans?”

 _Plans…_ “I don’t really know,” she admits softly, toying with the ends of her hair. “There’s a few things I think I… _need_ to do on my own, as soon as I’m able. I haven’t gotten to travel much yet, but…” _That will change soon, but he doesn’t need to know details._ “One day.”

He merely nods, letting her words linger. In the relative quiet she ponders the many other possible answers to such a question.

 _Plans, huh…_ _hard to make plans with all the work that needs to be done on the farm._ The thought holds no trace of bitterness, although she can’t help but wonder how different her life might be without all her existing responsibilities tying her down. “I don’t really have… _plans_ though,” she admits, tugging at a rare split end.

“A dream, maybe? You said you have things you _need_ to do, but what do you _want_ for yourself?” he inquires, guiding her thoughts seamlessly.

 _A dream…_ She recalls a treasured photograph framed on her dad’s bedside table, in which four friends are caught mid-laughter. That one image is the only memory she has of the dark-haired woman standing next to Taiyang, and despite the anguish that aches through her whole being when she sees the resemblance in her reflection, it reinforces the one question that has haunted her so horribly as to spur her to action: _Why?_

But she has long since acknowledged the likelihood that the answer may not be satisfying or fulfilling at all, if there even _is_ a definitive one, or _any_ at all. _That’s hardly a dream,_ she posits with a pensive pout.

“I don’t know,” she finally manages.

“Hmm,” murmurs Ren. “That’s okay. You have skills, and you have the spirit to back them up.” His tone is casually optimistic, but the genuine assessment doesn’t dissuade Yang’s doubts. Smiling, he continues the thought: “I’m sure that in time your experience and attributes will open up new possibilities; perhaps things unimaginable to you even now.”

“Maybe…” she mumbles, then jolts towards the side window as she realizes their proximity to the hospital parking lot. “Oh, I guess we’re here.” She is relieved at their arrival (for _several_ reasons), though she regains her smile as she briefly reflects on their drive. “Thanks again for the ride!”

He nods as they search for a parking spot, swiping some lien in a drive-by ticketing machine that produces a perforated paper to place in the window. Once parked, Ren turns off the engine and hands her the keys without a word.

Puzzled, Yang waits a beat before pocketing them. “Uh, aren’t you gonna be driving again after?”

He gestures to the simple digital clock on the dashboard. “You won’t get to Beacon in time if we drive to my place after this. I’ve arranged alternative transportation for myself,” he explains nonchalantly.

Glancing at the clock, she withholds a curse as she realizes the time. It hadn’t taken them very long to get to the hospital, but the initial arrival and processing had taken longer than expected and Ren hadn’t left Taiyang until well after lunch. She knows he will understand her words are rhetorical, but she responds out of courtesy: “Are you sure?”

Expectedly, he nods, unfastening his seat belt.

“Thanks, Ren. You’re a good friend,” she remarks, concluding their conversation as she follows his example. She allows her concern to take over, fuelling her rapid exit from the truck and determined steps into West Vale General Hospital, her new-ish friend close behind to guide her to her father.

* * *

Blake, while physically present in her afternoon lectures, is so absent from reality that dismissal catches her completely off guard. The focus on reviewing course content for the upcoming exams makes it easy to zone out here and there with little consequence, but she could have sworn she had just sat down in her final class before being dismissed.

At first she chides herself for her foolishness, but the burgeoning sensation demanding her attention refuses to back down. It’s familiar, but the _why_ and _how_ are indistinct. Like unearthing a once-treasured tome lost to the disorganized depths of any book-lover’s home library, she is captivated by the sheer scope of possibility: If she were to explore the text once more, would it be as exciting as it once was? Would she still be intrigued by the little details? Would she find pleasure within the pages as she once did? Would the journey be worth the effort?

Or… would it reveal itself to be misremembered, showing its true face as a simplistic mockery of the genre? Would it lead her along only to reject her emotional investment? Would it challenge her beliefs so far as to shame her core values? Would it eventually deny her the comfort and security she once found inside? Would it be better left alone, untouched, unread, so that it might never scar another soul with its charmingly harmful words?

With some reluctance, Blake allows the feeling to feed the growing kaleidoscope of stomach-butterflies, and their frenetic fluttering further eases her uncertainty. As a result, she flips back through her notebook to find an _absurd_ amount of dark orange sketches among her usual sparsely patterned doodles. For every line of course-specific text there is a half-page of haphazardly drawn images: a few generalized profile shots of random, clueless individuals with distinctive facial features; a few attempts at busts of characters from a recent novel, with some interpretive touches; a few mystery persons of her own design… but for all their variety, the subjects increasingly have more and more in common.

_Oh gods._

The newest portrait – a generous word given her skill level, but no less appropriate for this particular image – has a radiant smile, framed by gentle bangs with a _bushel_ of a ponytail sticking out in the back. The eyes in particular are eerily realistic despite the lack of colour, and look back at her in greeting: “ _Hey there, honey!_ ”

Blake slams the notebook shut, choking down an involuntarily noise: somewhere between a gasp, a growl, and… well, considering her barely-contained grin… a giggle? _Ugh_. _I hate that word_. Still, she gives in to the positively anxious energy coursing through her, smiling sheepishly despite herself.

Returning to reality, she realizes most of her classmates have left. She quietly quickens her packing process to leave the room before the slowest stragglers to avoid any potential small talk with the professor on the way out, and to her relief, no one seems to pay her much mind.

She maintains her heightened pace out the door and down the lengthy marble corridor, through ever-thinning crowds of fellow students, eager to make it back across campus to process her… what, exactly? _Flowering feelings? Potential friendship? Hopeless romantic? Is that really what this is? A_ crush _? Am I seriously crushing on someone who’s practically a complete stranger?_

“Hey, watch where---OOF!”

Blake stumbles backwards, barely maintaining her footing following her unintentional impact with a newer, more shrill-voiced stranger. Her own satchel swings safely at her side, but the dull clatter of someone else’s textbooks tumbling down a flight of stairs still causes her to cringe as she finds her balance, sputtering: “S-sorry, I wasn’t---“

“ _Looking_? Yeah, I _noticed_ ,” snaps the young woman in front of her, also readjusting her own stance. She is at least a few inches shorter than Blake, but her rigid posture and tightly crossed arms evoke militant discipline – _and probably undeserved privilege_ , an impulsive thought whispers in the back of Blake’s mind.

The stranger is turned slightly away, an icy blue eye glaring indignantly down at what must be her books scattered across the stairs. But even without a full view of her face, recognition dawns on Blake as she takes in the rest of the woman’s appearance, which is predominantly ( _ridiculously_ ) white: pale skin (spotless and well-moisturized); a pre-faded denim blouse with neatly rolled sleeves over what appears to be a lacy black tank top; a small, simple two-toned off-white purse; a snow-white pleated skirt that only barely obscures her knees; elaborate white wedges; and an asymmetrical, pure white ponytail that is at least half her height.

Flawless diamond snowflake earrings confirm Blake’s hunch, swaying violently as the young Schnee whips around to face Blake squarely with a scrutinizing stare. Blake returns the stare as unflinchingly as possible, but says nothing – though a thousand snide comments of her own stand ready to fight an all-too-familiar, defensive battle. Remembering the bow atop her head, she finds some immediate relief as she realizes this encounter may not go as badly as it could.

A dull pain in her palms brings attention to her fiercely clenched fists, which she consciously slackens (if only slightly). Widening her awareness of the scene, in her peripherals she recognizes the stairway as the one she had intended to take to the ground floor, but had been so distracted by---

“ _Well_? What do you have to say for yourself?” the girl demands, as if Blake had shattered something of significant monetary value and would be expected to pay for its full value – _through a life of modern day slave labour in the Schnee Diamond Company mines, no doubt._ Before she can filter her disgust into actual speech, the Schnee girl brings a rigid, manicured finger to a sharp point and aims for Blake’s sternum, as if literally jabbing her would prompt a more productive response. “If you’re not going to say anything you could at least help me recover my---“

“It’s okay Weiss, I got it!” pipes up an even squeakier voice from the stairwell. Blake makes a very conscious effort not to let her faunus ears move too much within her bow as she recognizes the cheerful tone of her newest Facebook friend, Ruby Rose.

Weiss turns back towards the stairs, and this time Blake follows her gaze to see a smattering of loose pages of course outlines and handouts, several neatly labelled notebooks dramatically spread across the marble with their spines up, and a pair of textbooks with dozens of multicolored miniature sticky notes peeking out from the tops and sides in immaculate condition (save for a fresh dent on the back cover of one) leaning precariously against the bannister. And then, scrambling up the stairs to snatch up the mess, a red-jacketed Ruby smiles broadly and waves in Weiss’ direction.

Blake holds back an exasperated groan. _You’ve got to be kidding me._ Not only has she stumbled into a physical altercation with the heiress of the Schnee Diamond Company, but said heiress is apparently a friend of Ruby, who Blake had only _just_ decided would be nice to see again. _Not like this… I need to leave, before---_

A deafening gasp echoes through the stairwell. “ _BLAKE_?!? Is that _you_? Omigosh, HIII!” Ruby crams the remaining papers into her arms while Weiss glances between them with narrowed eyes, grimacing at the sound of her notes crumpling.

While Ruby sprints up the stairs (a considerable feat given her _very_ skinny jeans), Blake summons the most polite and coherent words she can to her lips. “Oh, hey, Ruby, uh, sorry for…” she trails off as Ruby meets them in the corridor, unfazed by Weiss’ re-crossed arms and shift in stance – the heiress is leaning to the right, her judgement palpable in the way her hip now juts out.

“You two _know_ each other?” Weiss asks, the venom in her voice progressively lessening with each word spoken. _I should be asking you that_ , thinks Blake, struggling to comprehend the reality of such a cordial relationship between such absolute opposites. Eyeing Ruby for an explanation, Weiss uncrosses her arms once more as her… _friend?_ makes to hand over the dropped belongings.

“Yeah, she’s a friend who comes to the market sometimes!” exclaims Ruby, dumping the pile of papers in Weiss’ outstretched hands, which prompts a practiced eye roll from the latter. If Ruby sees this, she does not react, instead turning her attention back to Blake. “I’m so happy we finally bumped into each other on campus! How _are_ you?” she asks, that infectious Rose smile already whittling away Blake’s defenses.

“I’m okay, thanks. It’s good to see you, too,” Blake responds, her defensive hostility retreating behind her own growing smile. She sees Ruby’s eyes flit towards her bow, so she turns quickly to Weiss while she still has a mind to wrap up their incident without escalation. “Sorry again for… running into you, like that. I was… kind of in a hurry.” She bows her head in mostly-genuine apology, hoping Ruby has tact enough to refrain from prying about her concealed appendages.

Weiss’ seemingly endless scowl lessens in intensity as she straightens up once more. “As I said, I noticed… but,” she pauses, her eyes meeting Ruby’s briefly, and the faintest of sighs escapes her lips before her next words, “it’s okay. I’m sure you didn’t _mean_ to make me drop _all_ my things.”

It’s not overtly accusatory, but Blake still bristles at her choice of words. Before she can bite back, Ruby sighs loudly: “ _Weeeiiissssss_! If you’d just use a backpack or something…”

Weiss sighs back, but bows her head in defeat. “Sorry, I know you didn’t mean any trouble,” she half-mutters, crossing her hands politely in front of her and returning Blake’s apologetic nod.

Blake is silent and still for a few beats, disbelieving the sight before her. _I just literally bumped into the heiress of the SDC and_ she’s _apologizing to_ me _? And she’s friends with Ruby? Gods, if this day gets any weirder… Maybe this is all just a weird dream?_

“Sooo… what’s up?” asks Ruby, nervously glancing between them. “I was just walking Weiss to class, but it’s not for another _half hour_ ,” she explains, placing exasperated emphasis on the time and attempting an eye roll of her own.

“You know I like to be there early. And I can walk _myself_ to class, thank you very much. I’m not going to stop and wait for you at every drinking fountain along the way,” Weiss responds with less frustration than her words would suggest, having made a slightly less crumpled mess of the stack now hugged to her chest. “And… Blake, is it?” she looks at Blake, this time with impressive neutrality, “She said she was in a hurry.”

“Oh, well, actually…” Blake stammers, “not to anywhere important. I’m done for the day, so I was just heading back to my dorm.” She throws in an attempt at a laugh for good measure, yet again caught in a half-lie (yet again involving Yang, sort of) in front of Ruby. She tries to relax her own posture so as not to appear eager to leave, even though she _is…_ but also kind of _isn’t_ …

Before Weiss’ neutral expression has the chance to shift to what Blake anticipates to be suspicion once more, Ruby bursts into excited clapping. “Great! Let’s all hang out for a bit!” she cheers, but stops suddenly, noticing Weiss raising an eyebrow in her direction. “Uh, if you want to.” Weiss’ raised eyebrow is replaced with the hint of a smirk tugging at her lips.

 _What in the world…_ She swallows her bewilderment and instead considers the offer. _Weiss… Weiss Schnee. “Hang out” with Weiss Schnee._ The absurdity of the thought almost overwhelms her once more, and so she reassesses the offer from a different angle. _Hang out with Ruby Rose. And maybe…_

“Sorry, Ruby, I’m going on ahead. I need to review my notes before class,” Weiss says, beginning to step away, but turns back to Blake, a look of careful deliberation on her face. A faint vertical scar crossing her left eye glistens in a sliver of sunlight. “It was… nice to meet you, Blake,” she decides, before turning away.

“Aww, fine. See you tonight, Weiss!” Ruby calls after the heiress. Without turning back, Weiss waves a single hand back towards them in acknowledgement, then rounds a corner. Almost immediately, Ruby’s silver eyes light up. “Oh! Now that Weiss is _gone_ I can invite you to our concert!” She rubs her hands together expectantly.

 _The plot thickens_ , Blake muses. “What concert?” she asks, turning a more relaxed smile back towards Ruby.

“It’s a secret, but… well, not really a secret. _We’re_ kind of a secret, but the concert is kind of a big deal. Er… well, yeah, only kind of…” the smaller girl rambles, before refocusing. “But yeah! You should come! It’s next weekend – which, I know, is like, right in the middle of finals, but it’s late on Saturday!”

 _Next week, Saturday…_ _Same as Neptune’s “thing.”_ _Still…_ Blake weighs her options. _I have no idea what this “thing” is, but I promised Sun. Also… going to a concert where Weiss Schnee is involved?_ Blake vaguely recalls encountering an obnoxious online SDC ad in which a grossly bedazzled woman sings a silly song in an operatic style to the man she loves about how a single SDC product would be more worthwhile to her than all the “lesser” jewelry she is already wearing. The singing didn’t quite line up with her lip movement, however, and thinking back on it… _I guess that was Weiss’ voice. If that’s at all what the concert’s going to sound like…_

“Sorry, Ruby,” she starts, pausing only to begrudgingly acknowledge her mirroring of Weiss’ rejection only moments early, “I actually have other plans that night.” Immediately, Ruby’s entire body seems to wilt at the declination, and a wave of sympathetic guilt crashes down on Blake. “Maybe another ti---“

“Ruby! _There_ you are!” calls another somewhat familiar voice from the stairwell. Blake feels her cat ears straining against the fabric of her bow, having honed in on the source with almost magnetic resolve.

Blake’s mind goes completely blank, save for one whispered thought that echoes in the void:

 _Okay, I’m definitely dreaming_.

* * *

Pocketing her scroll for what seems like the hundredth time in the last hour, Yang storms through the marble corridors of one of the oldest buildings at Beacon – _King’s Hall? Something like that_ , she briefly recalls, nearly careening into a pair of way-too-nicely-dressed-for-any-kind-of-school students.

“Sorry,” she half-shouts, without turning back towards them. _This is ridiculous._ Some less considerate words lie dormant as her main objective continues to dominate her thoughts. _I’m pretty sure this is where she said Weiss’ class was. I just hope I don’t have to go knocking on doors._

She nears the far stairwell, glancing upwards as she launches herself up the steps – and then, from the middle landing, she sees her sister’s unmistakable red hooded jacket and way-too-big hiking backpack through the bannister rails. She stops, gathering a large breath of relief and frustration, then shouts: “Ruby! _There_ you are!”

Ruby whips around, a puzzled look on her face. “ _Yang_?”

Yang rushes up the remaining stairs to meet her sister in the corridor, summing up what little patience and energy she has left to explain to her and Weiss what’s going on. Bracing for Weiss’ attitude, she approaches her sister and companion with a purposeful stride… and then halts abruptly.

_That’s not Weiss._

Not-Weiss’s not-human ears seem especially large and dark today… until she recognizes the tips as the points of a black bow. She is so confused by not-Weiss’ not-ears that she only catches the tail end of an expression that she is weirdly sure mirrors her own: wide eyes, open mouth, raised eyebrows, and silen---

“Yang, what’s wrong?” inquires Ruby, concern mixing with her confusion. Her companion’s expression retreats behind something more neutral – cautious, even. Honey-colored eyes, slimmed by relaxed lids, stare unblinking.

“Uh… Blake,” she utters plainly, but cringes at the connotation. “I mean, uh, hi, sorry,”

“Hello, Yang,” not-Weiss replies coolly. _Was she always this… calm? Or did I just imagine her being more… emotional?_ Yang almost greets her again in response but nods instead, finally remembering her whole reason for finding Ruby in the first place.

“Right, uh, sorry, we gotta go now,” she explains. “I tried calling but you never answered, so I came looking.”

Ruby inhales sharply. “Oh! I never turned my phone back on after class! Whoops, hehe…” she chuckles innocently, but trails off when she notices Yang’s revised expression of seriousness. “Wait, why? Where’s Dad?” Her eyes widen with the onset of panic.

“He’s okay! But, uh, if we don’t leave _now_ we’ll probably get towed, and we kinda need the truck if we’re gonna get back to the hospital.”

“The _hospital_?” Ruby’s eyes start to shimmer with moisture, and Yang’s waning “gotta-find-Ruby” adrenaline rush kicks into “gotta-comfort-Ruby” mode, though she’s running on fumes.

“He’s fine, it’s just a concussion!” _And a bruised tailbone._ “We’re gonna go see him right now, okay?” she says with as much calculated urgency as she can muster, trying to steady her words for her sister’s sake.

Ruby just looks at her for a moment, overwhelmed, then blinks the excess moisture away and nods determinedly. “Okay.”

They both turn to Blake, who has been watching them quietly, only her occasionally raised eyebrows hinting at any sort of reaction. Ruby opens her mouth in apology but Blake beats her to it. “Don’t get towed,” she says, a wry smile prying up the corners of her lips.

The sisters nod a silent farewell as they launch themselves down the stairs.

 _Of course this is how we meet again. Now I’m the one running off before we even get to talk. This is ridiculous,_ Yang laments. At the halfway landing, she looks back up to catch Blake watching them with a look of muted fascination.

 _This is stupid._ Just as Yang’s momentum is about to carry her down the remaining stairs and out of sight, Blake raises a hand in a tentative wave.

Yang grabs the handrail in a death grip, which jerks her to a halt. Her insides are keen to continue on without her, and she is half-winded by the effects of inertia. That, and something clawing her throat shut.

_This is so dumb._

“See you at the market this weekend?” she calls breathlessly, momentarily frozen in place.

If she hadn’t been so still she might have missed it – but she’s pretty sure Blake’s bow twitches. The faunus nods curtly, the independent motion of the bow almost obscured by the gesture.

“Yaaaaang, come on! Where did you park?” Ruby’s voice reverberates from below.

Yang leaps down the stairs, catching up with her sister at the doors leading out to the main campus thoroughfare. She’s pretty sure she answers Ruby’s question, but as soon as her legs start carrying her back towards her loading zone parking spot, her focus turns inward. Her mind seems to be sprinting faster than her body, fumbling with the memory fragments of the scene she just (almost literally) flew from.

_Was she smiling just now? What was she wearing? Why the bow? Why not at the market? Will she come again? Why didn’t she say anything? Why was she there? Does she have classes there too? Have they met up before today? Is she cool with Weiss? …Is Weiss cool with her? Why hasn’t Ruby told me about this? Has she already declared Blake her next BFF? I wonder if they ever talk about me…_

“Yang, look!”

Panting, Yang’s gaze snaps to a wiry grey-haired man in a campus security outfit biking leisurely down the road ahead… about fifty feet from the loading zone where the family truck lies in wait, hazard lights blinking patiently. Cursing, she pours what little adrenaline she has left into a full-on sprint, desperate to close the roughly equidistant gap. _No tow truck, but I can’t afford a ticket. Not now._

Somehow she approaches the truck before he does, and she slows abruptly, hoping not to draw his attention as she approaches the driver’s side door with the keys in hand. He pedals closer, and she casually offers him her best “no worries, I was just leaving” wave, fighting hard to keep herself from gasping unceremoniously for breath.

The security officer raises a few fingers in her direction, which she figures is acknowledgement enough, as he passes by. Yang unlocks the doors and heaves herself into the driver’s seat before letting out an enormous sigh, dropping her forehead to the steering wheel.

_BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP---_

In an instant Yang is bolt upright in the seat, her entire body rigid. Profanity ignites on her tongue but she clenches her jaw shut as she spies the security officer glancing back over his shoulder, no doubt annoyed or at least curious as to which jerk just honked their car horn at him. She waves a stiff arm at the man once more, who shakes his head as he continues on his route.

“I’m coming, I’m coming…” mutters Ruby as she catches up, also climbing into the cab.

Yang is too busy catching her breath (and evading her embarrassment) to apologize properly or explain, so she just sticks the keys in the ignition, beginning the return trip to the hospital.

Ruby allows approximately eighteen seconds of silence (or, what silence can be found given the truck’s rhythmic clunking) before instigating her interrogation about the day’s events. Yang does her best to relay in brief what the doctor had told her, her voice periodically straining with consternation (at one point resisting the urge to cuss out a driver who neglected to signal before entering the lane immediately in front of them).

“A whole month? For his _butt_?” confirms Ruby, crestfallen.

“Tailbone, yeah. Maybe just a couple weeks if he takes care of himself. The concussion’s pretty mild but it could still take anywhere from a week to several months to fully heal,” Yang sighs.

“And Ren is really okay taking over at the studio?”

“Yeah, surprised me too, but he’s really grateful for the opportunity. It’s only a handful of Dad’s classes, and as soon as he can move around comfortably on his own he can at least supervise.”

Ruby smiles, silver eyes sparkling with renewed hope. “That’s not so bad!” she exclaims, but her enthusiasm diminishes once more as something else occurs to her. “What about the farm?”

Yang frowns, once more trying to make sense of the complications to their daily routines. “No hard labour for a while, so I’ll be taking care of the essentials and whatever else I have time for. He’s going to need a lot of attention for the first day or two at least, just to monitor his fluid intake and sleep patterns, in case the symptoms get worse. So…” she trails off, fingers drumming quietly on the steering wheel. “Tonight, after your _secret band practice_ or whatever, we’ll take him home. But that means tomorrow I won’t be able to drive you anywhere.”

A beat of silence. With her arms crossed and head tilted forty-five degrees, Ruby scrunches up her face in concentration. “Hmm…”

Yang had long since accepted the drawbacks of living outside of the city, but the limitations still evoke feelings of helplessness at times like this. Ruby still has classes tomorrow, and exams are coming up…

Before she can voice any of her half-hearted suggestions (most of which involving ludicrous costs or immense favours), her younger sister simply says, “Okay!”

Yang is taken aback, her brow furrowing. “ _Okay_? Don’t you have exams, like, _next week_?” She bites back a further comment regarding Ruby’s gaming habits.

“Yeah,” Ruby shrugs, “but tomorrow’s classes are all review classes anyways, and I’ve been doing fine.” She turns away a bit, mumbling, “They’re just first year courses anyways…”

Again, Yang is surprised at her sister’s nonchalant attitude. Something about it rubs her the wrong way - perhaps Ruby’s lackadaisical approach to her studies ever since graduating early and getting _invited_ into her dream program with what amounted to almost a full ride for up to four years. She had worked hard to get this far, sure, but that was on top of her existing affinity for mechanical sciences, and her journey through higher level studies had only just begun…

The low whooshing of oncoming traffic is the only sound for a while as they wait out a turning light at an intersection. In this relative quiet, Yang struggles to find an appropriate response to her baby sister’s… arrogance? No, not quite - complacency? _I’ve never had her kind of innate talent for anything…_

It strikes her that her own feelings are bordering on jealousy, which makes her sick to her stomach. _That’s not fair. We’re just different people. I can’t blame her for her success._ _What do I know, anyway? I’ve been out of school for over a year now. Maybe first year university courses really are nothing to worry about._

Yang sighs, trying to breathe her misgivings away. “Okay… if you’re sure you’ll be fine. Do you need to call in or something?”

“Pffft, naaah,” Ruby dismisses with a loose wave of her arm. “Even on a normal day, most professors don’t seem to care who’s there or not.”

“If you say so,” Yang smirks through tight lips. In a further effort to put her concerns to rest, she turns the radio on to her favourite station for full-on rocking out, only to catch a commercial break. She huffs in defeat, slouching in the lumpy driver’s seat.

Ruby politely turns the volume down, picking up where they left off their previous discussion. “So one of us will have to stay home with Dad over the weekend, too, right?” she asks, her tone steady and focused – the sort of momentary maturity that still surprises Yang from time to time. _Where was this Ruby a minute ago?_

“Yup,” Yang responds, popping her lips at the end of the word.

As if on cue, a thought pops into her head as she remembers her last words to Blake at Beacon. _I need to be at the market._

“Okay, then I’ll stay with Dad!” Ruby announces.

Yang shivers involuntarily at the immediate relief to her almost-problem. “Uh, you sure?” she asks, careful to sound just as casual… as if she didn’t care either way.

“Yup!” Ruby responds with a pop, an eager echo of her older sister. “You’re better at handling customers,” she adds, “and I think you have a date.”

Yang whips her gaze towards Ruby for a full second, witnessing a truly devilish grin and twinkling silver eyes blinking suspiciously. “Ruby Rose, what did you just say?” she demands, though her voice warbles nervously. Her cheeks flush with heat, and she glances at the temperature control knobs on the dashboard - surely the air conditioning must be failing again.

“You invited Blake to the market,” Ruby responds with a shrug, as if that were a full recount and explanation in itself.

Yang grips the steering wheel tighter, the cracked leather creaking ominously. Out of the corner of her eye, a bright blue “H” towers above several high-rise office buildings, only a few blocks away. “Yeah, so? We’ve only just met. She comes by often enough that I figure I should get to know her a bit. I didn’t really get to talk to her last week when we met Sun, so…” she trails off as she turns onto a side street, scanning for free parking.

Not for the first time, it occurs to her that Ruby already has plenty of opportunities to see Blake, given that they both attend Beacon - but again she does her best to swallow the seeds of jealousy before they take root. _What am I even worried about?_

“Mhm,” hums Ruby, her head bobbing along to the dim beats of whatever is currently playing on the radio.

_I didn’t “ask her out”. I just asked if I’d see her there…_

Once parked, Yang lets out another tense breath as Ruby hops out of the cab. She follows, locking the doors.

_She nodded. That’s a yes, right?_

Yang pockets the keys and leads Ruby inside to check in on their father.

_It’s a date._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, and Happy Bumbleby Week!
> 
> Tumblr has been alive and well with scores of fantastic Bumbleby creations and I’m relieved to be able to contribute even this much as a part of it. I’m always amazed at the sheer quantity of work that people are able to put out - I’ve had a hard time committing time to finishing this chapter because I’ve been so drawn in by others’ works! Check out bmblbweek on Tumblr to see what I’m talking about.
> 
> So, I’m actually a month behind my semi-secretly self-imposed schedule (sorry about that), but I cautiously hope to return to monthly updates. The feedback so far has been very encouraging, so thank you (and please continue)! Meanwhile, since it’s been so long, a few things:
> 
> First, while we’re on the topic of awesome creations by other awesome people, I commissioned gabecebro on Tumblr for a cute little inspirational Honey scene for myself that you can see on either of our blogs. They were very receptive to my idea and my constant adjustments, and it turned out far more wonderful than I imagined, so I am incredibly thankful for that!
> 
> Second, as this story grows and continues onwards, I’ll be updating tags and ratings as best I can. If you feel like there’s something I should be tagging or warning about, please let me know. While so far the most dramatic stuff has been pretty much just self-imposed angst, there may come a time when things get a little more intense, and I don’t want that to be a shock to anyone. I strongly doubt the general rating will ever need to be raised beyond “T” but there may be a chapter or two with some more mature or graphic content, so consider this an early heads-up.
> 
> Finally, there’s a lot of fan work that has influenced my own take on the characters in every way, and while I don’t think I’ve made any direct references yet, it may so happen that with all of these amazing images imprinting on my memory, something like an outfit I describe might be taken from someone’s art. If I do that consciously I will be sure to acknowledge that person (or seek to)! But if you feel I have ripped off someone else’s creation (likely unawares), please let me know and I’ll make adjustments and give credit where credit is due!
> 
> That’s enough out of me for now, though if you wish to follow up, your best bet would be to find me on Tumblr (thomsenator-kms).
> 
> Cheers!  
> -kms


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, and HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY!
> 
> It's not exactly Valentine-themed but I wanted to finally post this chapter, in part as a thank you to the wonderful (continued?!?) readership thus far, and also because... well, it's been a while! Too long, you might say! Unfortunately this chapter is not all sunshine and daisies, so...
> 
> CONTENT WARNING: Implied past relationship/abuse, anxious/traumatic breakdown, canon-compliant racism.

Blake spends the aftermath of her Thursday “dream” remembering how to breathe.

At first, it is as if her lungs have also filled with butterflies, taking up too much space for normal breathing, and occasionally displacing even more air as they flit around.

Even if it was the briefest of moments, Yang had paused an important personal mission just to ask if she would see Blake at the market this coming weekend. She had taken the time to seek a response from Blake regarding her presence. Whether or not it was a big deal to _her_ , it mattered _enough_ to ask.

The cognitive dissonance with her recently-shattered perception of their acquaintanceship thus far is staggering. _Yang is actually… interested?_ The implications of that particular word aren’t lost on Blake but she does her best to ground her expectations. _I guess she’s at least open to the idea of getting to know each other._

The clouds that had earlier seemed so intent on hiding the sun from the world instead begin to thin as Blake strolls leisurely around the courtyard. Warmth slowly seeps into the air as rays begin to permeate the translucent remnants of the overcast skies. The auspicious atmosphere further encourages Blake’s butterflies, and as she rounds the corner towards Fall Hall she finds herself humming a meandering melody that coaxes a shy smile to her lips.

She slows, taking time to admire the spring blooms in the planters in the courtyard and around the surrounding buildings. While many colours of flowers can be seen, the sheer amount of green contrasting against the pale or ruddy stone facades is refreshing, if a bit overwhelming. Green had never appealed to Blake as a colour, but today… witnessing it in nature on this fine day is truly breathtaking.

She steps lightly up towards Fall Hall, savouring one last breath of late spring air for now, before entering the dorm, where her quiet, personal melody echoes to life in the open lobby. The young man at the front desk turns his head to find the source, a confused smile gracing his features as Blake steps purposefully past, blushing at the attention she had drawn to herself as she ducks into the elevator.

Once she is safely back in her dorm room, she rests her satchel on her bed and seats herself in her armchair with expectant poise, fanning herself slowly to deter her embarrassed blush. As she recalls her encounter with Yang, the heat in her cheeks stubbornly persists.

She thinks ahead to the weekend, wondering if Saturday or Sunday would be better for a market visit, or… _Why not both?_

Then it hits her, and the heat in her face suddenly subsists.

“No…” she murmurs, mourning the reality descending upon her. In a flurry of motion she fumbles her scroll open, searching her calendar.

Though her exams are, for the most part, comfortably spread out, her first two are this coming Saturday at 1:00 PM and Sunday at 9 AM.

Half a dozen less-than-kind versions of Professor Goodwitch’s name form in her mind. _Of course my most demanding exams would be first_ , she fumes. _This is probably some twisted method to screen for the “serious” students._ This thought gives her pause. _I am serious about this… right?_

She glances at the imposing stack of textbooks neatly piled in the corner of her desk, clearly segregated from the more loosely organized novels leaning precariously against each other on her bookshelf and the odd couple strewn across surfaces between empty mugs and discarded stationery and crumpled papers. It looks about as normal as she would expect of any university student, though her frame of reference is admittedly limited mostly to the stories scattered around her.

Unlike so many of her peers, she _does_ have a clear goal for her university studies. Where others fumble blindly through the open-ended, catch-all Year One program hoping to find their calling, she is already on the path towards a degree in Law, through which she’d enter a career in the field of justice and help make the world a safer, better place for faunus and humans alike.

 _Of course I’m serious about this. This is exactly what I’ve always wanted_ , she insists.

As if to punctuate the thought with greater finality, Blake retrieves her scroll, hoping to find a change of topic there. She taps Facebook open, and after a long two seconds of loading she finds herself staring at a seconds-old selfie of Ruby.

The cheery girl looks immensely relieved as she looks straight into the camera. A stubble-faced man with a dopey grin offers a thumbs-up in her general direction, while the bandages around his head make his short blonde hair stick up at odd angles.

_Mr. Rose, I take it?_

Blake confirms her hunch via Ruby’s caption: “Oops! Dad had an accident but he’ll be back to normal in no time!”

The image speaks of the same wholesome, genuine contentment Blake had felt from Ruby’s other photos with Yang. Even the way Yang had reprimanded Ruby earlier had felt so… familial; motherly, even.

 _Obviously,_ she huffs. _They’re family. Of course they interact like one._ But something about Yang’s tone and phrasing with her sister sticks in Blake’s mind, and threatens to unearth neglected memories of her own.

Scrolling through her feed in hopes of avoiding an emotional onslaught that could sour the sweetness of this day, she encounters a week-old post from The White Fang of Vale. With a sigh, she again reconsiders her decision to follow the page, but relents, deciding to give it a chance:

> “Attention brothers and sisters of The White Fang,  
>  This year’s annual general meeting has concluded with the resignation of our long-time president , Sienna Khan. At the suggestion of the board, the young visionary Adam Taurus has been appointed in her place!  
>  Starting next week, local branches of our organization will be hosting President  Taurus at a series of exciting rallies planned for his inauguration  tour. Be sure to come out and join the fight for equality!  
>  Please refer to the dates listed below for the rallies nearest you.”

The calm quiet of Blake’s room suddenly feels oppressive. Stunned in disbelief, she looks further down at the dates listed, hoping that even if this nightmare is real, she may not have to worry about confronting it…

> “Beacon University, Vale: June 6-7”

Her pulse quickens unsteadily. Her scroll trembles in her hands. “No…” her tiny voice quakes, acting without her consent. What remains of her jaded curiosity is incinerated as she scrolls down to the accompanying image.

It is a dramatic bust shot of a tall, crimson-haired man with lithe, backwards-facing bull horns staring up to the right through a white half-mask resembling an animal skull. The collar of his black blazer is turned up and trimmed with red to match his hair, which would look rather silly if not for the deadly serious smirk gracing his thin lips. To most people, it probably appears to be an expression of passionate confidence befitting a visionary leader pursuing change for the betterment of the faunus.

But Blake knows better than most people, and her body is quick to remind her of this as her shaking hand nearly drops her scroll.

She clings desperately to the device as the world around her shrinks into blackness. The dim backlight of her scroll becomes blinding in the dark, branding the man’s image into her retinas. Searing pain erupts from her abdomen, just inches to the left of her stomach, and engulfs her entire body in a sickening, frigid sweat. Countless stinging sensations needle their way through her suffocating consciousness, malevolent memories etched into her arms, her face, her back, her neck…

And for a while, it is dark, and cold, and painful, and nothing else.

Somehow, time passes, but Blake is only sure of this when she realizes her scroll’s screen is now off - and the scroll itself is four feet away, on the floor in front of her.

Shivering away the urge to retch, she finds herself on the floor, half-curled on her side and drenched in sweat. Her throat is raw and a messy layer of half-dried tears and traces of running mascara coat one side of her face, acting as a gentle adhesive for batches of dark hair that cling unsteadily to her cheek, unwittingly tickling her eyelashes. Her skin still tingles, echoes of ecstasy and outrage indistinguishable.

She rolls onto her back, gasping for fresh air away from the worn carpet. It takes a few minutes but she finally relaxes her body enough for her mind to take over.

_He’s coming._

_What if he’s already here?_

_I can’t risk running into him._

_Where is he staying?_

_I can’t risk going anywhere I don’t need to._

_Who else is coming?_

_I can’t risk being recognized by anyone._

Blake’s heartbeat echoes insistently in her ears as she struggles to stay afloat amidst the waves of panic while searching for a solution to the impending issue of getting to and from her exams.

_Tunnels!_

She spends the better part of a minute in deliberate, deep breathing before slowly gathering herself from the floor. Her insides ache and her head throbs dizzyingly, but she guides herself over to her desk and lowers herself into the simple rolling chair, clinging to the cold metal armrests. Taking another few seconds just to breathe, she opens the middle drawer of the desk and retrieves a stack of brochures and pamphlets from various Beacon University orientations two months prior.

Sifting through them, her eyes are briefly drawn to a “BU White Fang Brotherhood” handout, but she slips it to the bottom of the pile before the tingling in her spine can seize her up.

Finally she locates the campus map, a poster-sized foldout with buildings and faculties clearly labelled. To her relief, the tunnel system connecting the major campus buildings by their basement floors is overlaid on the map. While they had been rather crowded earlier in the spring with the winter chill still lingering, the early summer temperatures and spring blossoms had drawn most students outdoors. Still, Blake eyes her intended route warily, as she would still have to leave Fall Hall outdoors before entering another building to find her way towards her exam rooms.

Blake relaxes against the stiff cushion of the chair, noting that the building next door has a branch of tunnel leading from it all the way to her destinations - in fact, for both this weekend’s exams she wouldn’t even have to pass through the Campus Center. That just leaves the matter of the few people still using the hallways… _I suppose I could go in “disguise,” at least until I reach the exam room_. It’s almost a silly thought, and under normal circumstances she might find the extent of her own actions laughable - but not now.

She sits in silence, permitting her plan to percolate while her body continues to relax. With her breathing normalized, she rotates in her chair to glance forlornly at her discarded scroll.

 _I... can’t go to the market this weekend._ She contemplates apologizing somehow, but… _She asked if she’d see me there. She didn’t_ invite _me. She might not even be there herself if their dad needs attention._ It occurs to her that she hasn’t even connected with Yang online, and so to seek her out just to apologize… _that would be a bit much, no? I could message Ruby, but… no, that’s still so… so… “desperate?”_

As soon as Blake hears the word in her head she huffs in frustration, rising from her chair. In her window she catches the hint of her own reflection - a frowning, disheveled, tear-streaked woman with a half-unravelled bow atop two nervously twitching cat ears. _I’m a mess,_ she mourns, making for the bathroom. _I can’t stay like this, even if I’m not going anywhere._

After a furious scrubbing of her face, she stares at her sullen reflection in the bathroom mirror. “I’m going to be fine. He’s not going to find me.” Mirror-Blake looks back, unfazed by the reassurance. “It’s going to be okay,” she offers again.

Mirror-Blake raises an eyebrow, frowning. _And?_

“And… it’s probably not a big deal. Yang will understand.”

* * *

On Saturday, Yang is the only one awake as she leaves the house.

The calm of dawn, while normally one of her favourite sensations, is completely overcome by her jittery eagerness to depart.

She loads the truck with several fresh boxes of jarred honey, and only briefly laments not having processed the first batch of beeswax for this weekend before revving the spluttering engine and beginning the drive to the market.

The drive in is always somewhat frustrating with the sunrise happening all the while right in front of her, slightly to the left, so that even with the sun visor down visibility is either limited or painful. What’s more, even for Yang, the light always feels uncomfortably warm inside the cab of the truck, especially in contrast to the morning air.

Today, however, Yang feels as if the sun is welcoming her with open arms, giving her _life_. She imagines the light washing away her weariness and amplifying her attributes, and the heat melting away her misgivings and stimulating her synapses. Grinning and giddy with anticipation, she nods her head enthusiastically with the varying beats of the pulse-pounding songs crackling over the radio.

Arriving a few minutes earlier than usual, she buys herself a large cinnamon coffee before setting up shop, greeting the other vendors with enthusiasm all the while. Their distant neighbour, Tiana Pine, already has three tables full of spring produce and flowers.

As Yang passes by with a box of honey, Tiana waves her over. The middle-aged woman is wearing her usual olive green overalls over a simple white blouse. “Good morning, dear! Oscar showed me your sister’s post about your father! How is he doing?” she inquires, pale green eyes full of concern.

Setting the box down carefully at the edge of the Pines’ table, Yang beams with sun-enhanced energy. “G’morning! He’s okay. Ruby and Zwei are keeping an eye on him today. He won’t be working for a while though,” she explains, her smile fading slightly.

“Oh dear. Well it’s a good thing he has you girls to look out for him,” she consoles, offering a sympathetic smile that highlights the many creases in her worn, tanned skin, then purses cracked lips. “My _nephew_ could learn a thing or two from you,” she says under her breath, before brushing a strand of dark, greying hair aside and resurrecting her smile. “You be careful not to overwork yourself.”

Yang’s chuckle is less sunny, but feels sufficient enough a response to wrap up their conversation. “I’ll try,” she says, reaching for her box once more.

“Hold it, young lady.” Yang freezes in place under the sudden, familiar authority in Tiana’s voice - not since she had last visited the Pines’ farm with Ruby as children had she been confronted with that tone, after a vase had been found shattered on the floor. A gloved hand reaches across the table, a cloth bag in hand. “On the house,” the older woman insists, placing the bag on top of Yang’s jars with a serious expression. “You let us know if we can ever do anything more to help.”

At a glance, Yang sees the leafy tips of a number of greens sticking out of the overstuffed bag. Overwhelmed at once by surprise and gratitude, she half-nods. “W-wow, uh... “ she starts, but her tongue fails to find the right words for a while, so she simply bows her head deeper and smiles. “Okay.”

“Good!” Tiana exclaims, leaning back in her wooden chair. “Now run along; I can tell you’re eager to get set up for the day, and you should be!” she smiles conspiratorially.

Yang’s face flushes mid-hoist, and she nearly drops the box and the bag perched on top. _What?! How…?_

“I’ve been raving about your honey to anyone who will listen. You’re in for a busy day!” Tiana chuckles, waving Yang away.

 _...Oh._ “Th-thank you so much!” Yang manages, bowing again as best she can before striding away with an anxious energy boost.

As she nears their market stall, she allows herself to slow down and catch her breath. A newer anxiety surfaces amidst her bubbling excitement. The unexpected charity of their neighbours is not unwelcome, but it does help shed a new light on the circumstances. While Taiyang’s job isn’t entirely jeopardized by his injury, and while they certainly have the means to live comfortably for the near future…

_Right now… I’m the only one working to support this family._

The thought isn’t particularly affected by any one emotion. It’s just… there; a vaguely uncomfortable, immovable fact, floating aimlessly among Yang’s various thoughts. It’s a fact that, she supposes, she has partially prepared for and anticipated over a long period of time, and so its impact is only notable because of the peculiarity - and hopefully _temporary_ nature - of the situation.

She lets this sink in as she finishes her preparations, seating herself purposefully in one of their two folding chairs. She sets the other one aside at first, but decides to prepare the seat for her expected visitor… _just in case_. The thought stirs the muted sunlight in her soul, and her giddy smile springs back into place.

 _I hope Blake comes soon._ Even hearing the name in her thoughts gives her goosebumps.

In a matter of minutes, Yang makes half a dozen sales to an early rush of people. _If Tiana’s right about business, I could probably use a hand_ , she thinks, smiling at the idea.

* * *

Blake leaves her room twice that weekend.

The first time, Saturday at 12:36 PM, she opts for a balance of inconspicuous and concealing attire: a dark purple flannel shirt worn loosely over a plain dark grey shirt, baggy black sweat pants, and unremarkable black flats. Reluctantly (given both the warmer weather and the smothering involved) she pulls her dark purple winter beanie over her head, allowing her hair to spill out the back and sides in a surprisingly convincing “disheveled law student” look.

Having talked herself through her route dozens of times in her study breaks, she finds herself oddly calm given her breakdown two days prior. _The tunnels will be sparsely populated. Today’s rally is during my exam, on the other end of campus. I’m not going to see or hear him, and no one is going to bother a lone, harried student trying to enjoy a safe, peaceful walk to or from an exam._

The most dangerous part, she figures, is leaving Fall Hall, where she will be exposed to her fellow dorm-mates as well as whoever is passing by outside.

She reaches for the door. _I can do this_.

Thankfully, despite the growing campus-wide appreciation for the outdoors and the break in classes, she encounters no one who pays her any mind as she slips into a side door of the next building over.

From there she wanders cautiously through a quiet hallway full of professors’ offices before finding a stairwell, which she surmises will take her to the tunnels. Again, she is relieved as the basement landing opens out to a locker-lined tunnel that leads off in the anticipated direction. A map next to the doorway indicates her current position, which she only needs to glance at to know the way; she had committed the entire tunnel map to memory, _just in case_.

As expected, there are very few people using the tunnels: an equally disheveled young man fumbling with the lock on his locker, a weary professor sifting through her bag on her way out to an adjoined stairwell, a pair of students chatting loudly about how well they probably did on their morning exam, and… she stops paying attention after that, choosing to focus inwards to combat the rising tension in her body.

 _Next left. Take the rightmost branch from there. Make sure you’re under Engineering…_ this thought gives her pause, though her body carries on its purposeful-but-not-too-energetic gait. _Does Ruby ever use the tunnels?_

Fresh conflict digs itself deeper into her focus. She can’t afford a distraction, or being seen by anyone who might know her, especially Ruby, who might ask about her visiting Yang. On the other hand, Ruby is hardly a worrisome presence, and it might be better to have company on this covert journey. _Plus, I could apologize to Yang through her, without seeming so… ugh. Weird._

Her contemplation almost keeps her from recognizing the sign for the Engineering stairwell, and she doubles back to make sure. _Well, no Ruby, but I’m going the right way._

Checking her scroll for the time, she breathes another faint sigh of relief - 12:49 PM, and almost there. By her calculations she would get there just in time to blend in with the crowd gathered outside the door and then slip in without a word. Then it would just be a matter of actually _writing_ the darn thing - but despite the many anxious distractions from her studies, she feels confident in her coverage of Professor Goodwitch’s materials.

 _I can do this_.

Rounding one last corner, she spots the stairwell to her destination. The insulation of the tunnels, combined with her own relatively warm outfit, has her panting slightly as sweat beads uncomfortably all over her body. _Almost there_.

As she nears a juncture, she hears the obnoxious guffawing of a few students from down the leftmost hallway, and a trio of young men round the bend to walk past her. The smallest of them, a scrawny young man with a shaved head save for a tufty, pale green mohawk, blabs something through their laughter: “Animal rights rally! That’s rich. I gotta tell Cardin that one.”

Blake forces herself to continue her stride towards the juncture, though every fiber of her being suddenly feels compelled to smack some respect into these boys. She narrows her eyes as they draw near, but they seem content to continue their joking among themselves, ignorant of their surroundings. She considers that without full context she may not fully grasp the true meaning of their words, but… no. She knows racism when she hears it.

She turns her gaze from them just as another individual enters the juncture.

Icy blue eyes follow the trio down the hallway as Weiss Schnee stalks slowly after them, seemingly reluctant to share their path but resigned to the experience given the pace she would likely have to keep to pass them.

Blake looks ahead before Weiss can catch her eye, but as she passes she’s pretty sure she sees Weiss turn her head in her direction.

Blake keeps walking, a swarm of concern held back by her insistence on reaching the stairs.

Weiss’ heels continue clacking away in the distance.

Throwing the door to her intended destination open, Blake exorcises her thoughts as she begins her ascension. _Was she with them? No, she didn’t look happy with them. But she didn’t say anything about their comments… well, she might not have heard them… no, there’s no way she didn’t hear them. Does she feel the same way? Even if she doesn’t, she let them go on like that… but that’s three against one if she provokes them, so, maybe…_

At the top of the stairs, Blake scans the hall for her exam room, noting a nearby clock displaying “12:54 PM” above a crowd of people… her classmates.

 _I made it_.

She shelves her misgivings about Weiss for now, and slinks into the crowd.

_I can do this._

At 12:59 PM, the doors to the lecture hall open to an expectant Professor Goodwitch, who curtly ushers them inside.

At 1:03 PM, Blake puts pencil to paper, lamenting the sheer quantity of multiple choice bubbles.

At 1:55 PM, Blake wracks her brain for a way to word her short answer that doesn’t come across as needlessly snide regarding the Atlesian government.

At 2:34 PM, Blake begins her final long answer, a mini-essay arguing either for or against one of the current legal systems in practice around the world.

At 3:11 PM, Blake approaches Professor Goodwitch’s desk, timing her approach with another student, to hand in her exam. “Thank you. See you bright and early tomorrow,” responds the professor, addressing them both at once.

At 3:12 PM, Blake leaves her exam room, already struggling to remember exactly what she had written, but more concerned with her return trek.

The return journey is devoid of other people. While relieving at first, this proves to be a different kind of unsettling, and Blake stifles a gasp for fresh air when she opens the side door leading out to Fall Hall.

At 3:31 PM, Blake closes the door to her room in Fall Hall, and shortly thereafter collapses on her bed in relief.

 _I did it_.

Once more she spends many long minutes just breathing as she grasps her momentary victory.

That evening she allows herself a lengthy recreational reading break and a brief nap to combat the hint of oncoming menstrual cramps, before half-enjoying a canned dinner and further review for Sunday’s exam. By sunset she feels thoroughly empowered by the day’s success, and settles into bed for the night with a weak smile on her face.

* * *

Shadows crawl further and further along the ground, climbing trucks and stalls and the central market facility like intangible ivy as the sun slowly descends from its zenithal point.

Yang barely notices the time passing until the crowds begin to thin and the small but constant stream of her own customers dwindles to naught but a few harried latecomers.

Finally, as the afternoon heat begins to subside, she flops back in her chair. The flimsy fabric backing protests the sudden force with a surprised creak, but Yang is determined to sit back and catch her breath.

Downing the last third of her second bottle of water, she cringes slightly as the liquid coats her raw throat. _If that’s not a new record for customers, it’s at least a new record for time spent talking to them._ Just as Tiana had said, she had been faced with her busiest day yet, and in hindsight, Yang has trouble distinguishing between the vast quantity of faces and pleasantries exchanged in such a relatively short time.

She double-checks the paths for potential customers, but sees no one approaching. Many of her fellow vendors have already packed up, or are in the midst of doing so. The Pines’ tables are empty, having all but sold out about an hour ago. With a sigh of relief, she closes her eyes and tilts her head back, giving into her chair’s tenuous support.

After a careful minute of focused breathing, she finds her mind wandering. _I hope it’s not like this tomorrow…_ The thought is bittersweet, though; the inherent success of her sales, and ultimately what that entails for the family, are of course a source of tremendous encouragement and relief, maybe even pride. But another full morning _and_ afternoon of relentless business?

Yang’s stomach groans loudly.

 _I didn’t even have time for a proper lunch_ , she realizes. She hadn’t felt it until now, but slipping samples for herself between customers hardly constitutes a meal. Jolting forward, she reaches into a bag under the table, procuring a slice of bread, which she douses with honey from a sample jar and stuffs into her mouth.

In her desperation, the pleasant flavour is overwhelmed by the simple relief of just _eating_ . This calls to memory an uncomfortable number of days from the past several months in which she had also neglected such a simple necessity, or at least hadn’t eaten _properly_ on her own time, for whatever reason. Frowning through the remnants of her snack, she leans back once more in thought, prodding soft belly through her shirt. _It’s been so long..._

_BVVVFT._

Yang’s eyes dart around the table in front of her, searching for her scroll. From the shelf below she spies the screen, flashing: “4:00 PM! Time to go!”

She sighs again, leaning forward and pocketing the scroll as she makes to stand. Every muscle in her body seems to groan as she reaches up in a dramatic stretch, pushing back against the stiffness and soreness from her sedentary sales position. As if channeling her muscles’ protests, she groans audibly as she swivels her arms and leans into one leg, then the other.

“Welp, that’s that…” she says to no one in particular, eyeing the remnants of her wares. “Pretty good, if I do say so myself!” Despite her somber musings, the new, false energy in her voice does help to brighten her spirits, and she begins re-packaging her boxes, humming cheerily all the while.

With the truck fully loaded, Yang returns to the stall one last time to tidy up. Only a few stragglers remain, wandering the empty paths with little visible interest in the few vendors toughing out the last afternoon hours. An older couple take turns loading their own truck, sharing affectionate hand and shoulder pats, chuckling at some shared joke or swatting each other teasingly.

Smiling, Yang stretches once more in the gentle warmth of the sunlight, recalling how the sun had seemingly given her so much energy that morning. _Good thing_ , she thinks. _I probably wouldn’t have been able to keep up otherwise_ . She begins to fold down the old patio umbrella that had kept her in the shade all day, and eyes the two folding chairs behind the table. _Can I keep this up... alone?_

She recalls her recent encounter with her mysteriously sort-of friend Blake, and shakes her head as she folds up the chairs. _Some date_ , she scoffs, trudging back to the truck. _This is silly. Even if she comes tomorrow, what am I so excited about? I’ll be swamped and she no doubt has better things to do than suddenly volunteer her time to help someone she doesn’t even know._

She departs the market in the truck, leaving behind a burst of noxious truck fumes, but an equally potent cloud of doubt follows.

_Maybe I didn’t see that right. Maybe she was just being polite. Maybe she was confused. Heck, I was too._

_Maybe I’m thinking too much about this. Maybe she’s not even interested in making friends. Maybe she’s got a lot on her plate. Ruby has exams next week, so she probably does at some point too._

_Maybe I’m coming on way too strong. Maybe I should be focusing on more pressing matters. Maybe I should worry about_ real _things in the_ present _instead of imaginary things in the future. Dad and Ruby need me to keep up, after all._

By the time she arrives back home, Yang’s inner monologue has drained and sobered her so completely that she struggles to fulfill her enhanced evening obligations of unloading the truck, tidying the yard, making dinner (grateful for the Pines' fresh greens in her salad) and cleaning the kitchen amidst her family’s various moment-to-moment needs and conversations. Thankfully, Zwei gives up hounding her for attention early on, Ruby gives up prying about who was at the market after Yang only ever manages one-word answers, and Taiyang is too groggy and grumpy to do or comment on much of anything, though his condition has improved.

While Ruby eases Taiyang into bed upstairs, Yang departs the kitchen, leaving a glistening collection of dishware to dry on the rack by the sink. The TV mumbles quietly nearby, and Yang eagerly crosses the living room and falls back into worn couch cushions, still warm from her father’s presence.

With the remote just out of reach, she resigns to straining to hear Lisa Lavender’s report on the Vale News Network channel, squinting at the screen to make out the headline: something about White Fang rallies at Beacon University.

_The White Fang… didn’t Sun say Blake was a bit of an activist or something? Maybe she was busy with that…_

Yang huffs at the haplessly hopeful relapse in her inner monologue, and grunts as she reaches across the table for the remote. She thumbs the power button, and the screen fades back into the projector, allowing silence to permeate the room. A twang of guilt tugs her mouth into a frown. _I should be paying more attention to these things in general if I’m ever going to be half the ally, or friend, I intend to be._

She sighs, but returns the remote to the table anyways, inundated by the quiet of the house, the first real aural break she’d had since she revved the truck’s engine that morning.

She lays her head back, closing her eyes…

“Yaaang!” a shrill, annoyed voice intones, breaking the silence.

Yang shifts uncomfortably against the cushions, righting herself from a horizontal position on the couch. Her hair sticks to her face, and her limbs offer intense, dull resistance to her commands.

“Bedtime for you too, huh?” the voice asks with a tentative giggle. Yang turns to find her sister behind her, leaning against the couch with a compassionate grin.

“Ruby, what… how long was I…?” Yang croaks, her throat dry. _I just closed my eyes..._

“I dunno. Maybe an hour? I came down for a, um…” Ruby’s composure cracks as she searches for the words. “ _Study_ break!” she smiles sheepishly. “I was gonna grab a snack and saw you sleeping there.”

Yang smirks, spotting the lie immediately. “How are Jaune and Penny?” she asks, playing down her discomfort as she peels her hair from her face.

“Really good!” Ruby beams, raising her fists triumphantly. “We make a great teeeaaaa---I mean, study group,” she catches herself, eyes darting around the room.

With immense effort, Yang manages to stand from the couch without groaning in tandem with the rest of her body, and reaches across to ruffle her sister’s hair. “Sounds like fun,” she smiles at her sister’s token resistance, heading for the stairs. “Don’t stay up too late,” she says over her shoulder, waving good night.

After a vaguely-too-long shower in which she twice forgets her place in her process of lathering and rinsing, Yang collapses on her bed, and barely has time to entertain any further thoughts before sleep overtakes her.

_Maybe tomorrow._

_Maybe next week._

_Maybe… nothing._

* * *

The next morning, Blake departs in the same outfit, confident in her altered route to her new destination, and with much less tension in her body.

She is halfway down the steps of Fall Hall when someone calls her name.

“Blake!” From the walkway out front, Ilia’s voice echoes off the brick facades.

Blake turns away from her destination next door to greet her, insides coiled up in a resurgence of anxiety, and manages a stiff wave.

Ilia bounds over in a hooded black windbreaker, her neutral blue-grey eyes shimmering with excitement, threatening to shift to a brighter colour. “How’s it goin’?” she asks.

“I’m… fine. Just on my way to an exam,” Blake replies, keeping her tone calm and quiet. Ilia eyes Blake’s destination with confusion, so Blake adds, “Taking the tunnels today.”

“Oh, gotcha,” Ilia nods uncertainly. “I forgot to ask the other day: Are you gonna check out the rally later?” she adds, eyes lightening a shade.

“No.” Blake says it with more force than she intends, the tension in her body willing her to leave as soon as possible, and Ilia is taken aback momentarily.

“Oh… okay,” she tentatively responds, but she appears to realize something, and her eyes darken. “Is it because… you and Adam?”

“Yes.”

“Ah, I’m sorry, I guess I never heard much about the breakup. It was… pretty bad, then?”

Blake fights the urge to scream - not necessarily at Ilia, but just in general. “...Yes.” _That’s… putting it lightly._

Ilia nods sympathetically, rubbing her neck. “Okay, sorry, I should probably let you---”

“Ilia,” Blake interrupts, her voice cracking. “ _Please_ don’t tell him I’m here, or anything about me,... I-if you talk to him at all. But… please, just _don’t_ ,” she pleads, her eyes stinging.

“Blake… I-I won’t, I promise!” Ilia responds, eyes wider, and bluer. She steps closer, raising an arm to Blake’s shoulder. “Blake, are you---”

“I have to go,” Blake cuts her off, turning and running into the building that would lead her safely away from the outside world and to her stupid, awful, worthless, pointless exam. She’s pretty sure Ilia calls out after her, which just makes her want to scream more: _Stop saying my name!_

Halfway through her intended tunnel route she finally slows and catches her breath, wiping away anguished tears and whispering reassuring words to herself: “It’s fine. You’ll be okay. He’ll never know. You can do this.” She doesn’t convince herself much, but she does seem to give off a satisfying performance to the odd passersby, who seem to consider her just another pitiable first year crumbling under exam stress, and worth giving as wide a berth as possible.

The rest of the morning drifts by in a state of delirium, in which Blake’s hand cramps up several times to match her stomach cramps, which only grow in intensity until she blearily drops her exam in Professor Goodwitch’s basket.

She manages to shuffle back to her room undisturbed once more, where she again collapses on her bed. This time, though, she has no need, intention, or desire to rise from it until called upon - perhaps even as late as her Thursday meeting with Ilia and Sun, where she will no doubt have to either explain her outburst or risk dodging prying questions the whole time.

A wisp of morbid curiosity inspires her to open her scroll, finding the White Fang of Vale on Facebook. Making a conscious effort to ignore the bulk of the text, she eyes the rally dates once more.

Sure enough, the next rally is tomorrow in Vacuo. Blake sighs deeply, but it comes out as more of a sob of relief.

_He’s almost gone. I just have to stay here until tomorrow._

Warm tears begin soaking into her pillow has she sobs through a bittersweet smile.

_I did it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again (again)!
> 
> Thankfully I got a good chunk of this done early (as in, last summer)... and then ended up splitting it into two chapters. Why yes, that does mean Chapter 6 is already well underway (albeit in need of significant review)! Pretty good, for me. I might not be able to make up for the ridiculous hiatus but I can at least feel confident about updating before another... 9-ish... months pass.
> 
> For the record, I'm pretty new to content warnings and the like, so please let me know if I can indicate something better in the future. I know I promised feels and fluff and so far it’s mostly been angsty feels, but I swear to you the good times are coming! This crazy cute idea just keeps growing a plot of its own...
> 
> Blake’s “disguise” was partially inspired by some of dashingicecream’s adorable art. Again, another fabulous RWBY fanartist with a distinct, cute style!
> 
> As always, thanks to Reeves3 and elfcow for early beta feedback and support. Additional shout-out to my small but mighty pool of followers on Tumblr who continued to offer encouragement even when I whine and ramble about every writing block and related tangent, at least until I also took a hiatus from Tumblr as well... oh yes, and eternal thanks to my North Star for giving me so much to look forward to <3
> 
> And of course, thanks to you for your patience, and reading and (hopefully) leaving some feedback or comments of your own! I make an effort to read and respond to every comment/review I get so you don’t have to worry about talking to a wall or shouting into the void.
> 
> OH! Almost forgot - some beautiful soul with the username "lo911e" did some adorable artwork inspired by this fic, and when I saw it it made my day! Please check it out at http://lo911e.tumblr.com/post/182225329834
> 
> Cheers,  
> -kms


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